The Bimbo in Limbo
by yararebird
Summary: Timothy Howard didn't go to Heaven. But he didn't go to Hell, either. He has a second chance - if he can get right with Purgatory's hottest jazz singer.
1. Purgatory: Kind of Like Rehab

**I watched a Paleyfest for Asylum once and recall Jessica Lange wishing she'd had more opportunity to perform as Judy the Jazz Singer. This story is for her; and for me, because I wished the same thing. Playlist follows and can be found on Spotify as "Limbo Bimbo" if you're interested.**

Cutie Named Judy - Jerry McCain and His Upstarts

Judy Blue - Mitchell Rose

It's a Man's World - Etta James

Rehab - Amy Winehouse

Fever - Peggy Lee

Woman's Got Soul - Joe Williams

Valerie - Amy Winehouse

I Remember You - Dinah Washington

Right Down the Line - Jerry Rafferty

God Only Knows - The Beach Boys

Why Judy Why - Billy Joel

Let's Hear it for the Boy - Deniece Williams

Somebody to Love - Jefferson Airplane

What Becomes of the Broken Hearted - Jimmy Ruffin

Timothy Howard scratched surreptitiously at the inside of his arm again. This was not his expectation - this gleaming white...waiting room. He sat in the universe's most uncomfortable chair and took in his surroundings with a baleful countenance. Surrounded by blurring, weeping, smiling, or simply staring faces.

He supposed it was better than Hell, but not by much. He looked again at his ticket number, the tiny scrap nearly rubbed bare by his fretting fingers. 2,737,654,156,417,706,313. He wasn't certain what number that even _was._ But he knew he had quite a wait before him. Even though the digital display on the too-bright wall read 2,737,654,156,417,706,277. He watched it flick to 2,737,654,156,417,706,278 and sighed heavily. Scratched the inside of his other arm.

Again, he adjusted the plush towel wrapped low on his waist. Apparently, death was a 'come as thou art' experience. He vaguely wished he'd at least put on pajamas before butchering himself into oblivion.

He was plagued by rampant doubts: What if there was no Heaven, after all? What if the heathens were right all along and _this_ was to be eternity? Jumping aimlessly from one interminable waiting room to the next? What if his arms never healed at all and he remained a pale, exsanguinated skeleton of a man forever, never released from limited human form? Or what if he _did_ end up in Hell? (He 90% expected this outcome - the Catholics had ever been staunch on the subject of suicide.) What exactly would his Hell be? He'd read dreadful, terrible things - seen those surreal and grotesque Bosch tryptics. What if he ended up boiling forever upside down in a pit of human milk-fat with a spray of thorny lantana and daffodils sprouting from his ass while a dwarf goat-man marched about dooting a trombone made from sinners' hair?

He cringed.

A set of ornately carved double doors whispered open across from him and four nuns dressed in pure white habits tittered out talking about what they would have for lunch. His own stomach growled in response. Was it possible to be hungry in the afterlife?

Another digital display flared to life beside the first. From the corridor to his left, hundreds more faces drifted in - wandering as lost and confused as he had. Must have been peak time for souls. A second shift was added. He brightened a bit when the second display read 2,737,654,156,417,706,291. Things were looking up.

He was looking down. At the mangled flesh inside his arms. Opened like two gagging grins, his arms displayed their complex internal workings. Tendons. Muscle. Bone. A jagged artery (Or was that a vein? He'd never really studied anatomy.) dangled down his elbow. Self-consciously, he tucked it back into the wound. Didn't feel a thing, really. Bit of a tickle. Or he was imagining that. He absolutely _wished_ he could feel something. Anything. Even if it was pain. A headache, even. Searing spikes up each arm. A charlie horse. Anything but the cold, penetrating numbness that made him feel so densely heavy in this scratchy grey chair.

He supposed there would be more than enough pain in Hell, though; what with the boiling, thorning, poking, sawing, freezing, burning, bruising, scratching, scraping, screaming, and dooting.

Emotions, too. Honestly he'd expected to be a blithering mess of sorrow. Or anger. Impotent rage. Frustration at the interminable wait. Ironic humor at the bitterness of his situation. Regret. Soooo much regret... But so far, he'd felt nothing but the clinical air of Here and Now caressing his bare back.

Perhaps...a touch of gratitude. Yes, there was a little bit of niggling gratitude trying to poke its way through the facade of apathy.

He was grateful not to feel the regret.

At least not yet.

A click as the digital display flicked again: 2,737,654,156,417,706,304. Things were starting to move along rather briskly. He wasn't sure if he should be pleased or filled with dread. Wasn't sure he could really feel either way.

The woman seated beside him coughed. She was a rather bloated thing of unknown origin. He couldn't decipher her origin because her skin was mottled gray and seemed to be peeling. Her plastered hair and cloudy eyes suggested she'd drowned.

On his other side, a young man sucked air through his teeth. AGAIN. A hint of annoyance presented itself. But the fellow couldn't have been more than 16 or 17. There was a small, perfectly rounded hole on the side of his head, and Timothy discovered he could see straight through it to the elderly man with a trachiotomy on the other side.

Timothy regarded his own fingers. They were pruny. He looked down at his pallid toes. Also pruny. Perhaps they would at least give him a blanket or a robe or something. He'd hate to meet St. Peter this way.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Cough.

Click...

When his number finally flashed, he felt a strange sensation tugging him from his seat. He was compelled through the ornate double doors, pruny feet slapping chill tile. And a pristinely clad nun greeted him, clipboard gleaming silver. "Timothy Howard."

"Yes."

"This way." He followed her. No blanket or robe was presented. Doors all the way down, it seemed. No end to this hallway. They stopped at number 19. "In here." She opened the door and he entered a tiny office. Greeted by a plain oak desk and yet another uncomfortable chair. "Sit, please." She gestured to the chair. No smile. No expression at all. She'd not even glanced at him. She pulled papers from her clipboard and dropped them on the desk. "It'll be just a moment."

He waited again. At least there was carpet here. Beige. And...paneling. A painting of Christ smiling behind the desk. In the corner, a ficus. He could reach it and did, touched a trembling leaf to gauge its realness. It was fake. A fake, plastic ficus. Something like sadness started to creep in.

The door opened and a man harried in. A grey-suited man. Tall in stature. Simple wire-rimmed glasses. Black tie. Silver aged hair. "Hello, there." A pleasant, Southern accent.

"Hello." Timothy watched him sit.

Briskly, he shifted papers. "Let's see...Timothy Howell."

"Howard."

"Yes, sorry. Howard." Ahem. "Here we are. Just waiting now for your spokesperson."

"Spokesperson?"

"Yes, yes. Everybody gets representation, you see."

"Ah." Timothy's mouth worked a moment. "Are you...St. Peter?"

"Oh, Heavens no." The man chuckled. "I'm Max Boardman. St. Peter is far too busy. I'm a representative, you see."

"Oh." Slightly disappointing.

"I'm a bit like a...parole officer."

His forehead creased. "I see. So I'm...on probation?"

"Well, we don't know that yet." Max was reading paperwork. "We'll have to see what decision we make with your spokesperson."

And the door opened. Timothy glanced up. A double take. A little nun, clad in black. "Mary Eunice!" He gasped.

She turned beside Max's desk. A graceful curtsy in her familiar habit. "Hello, Timothy!" She seemed almost pleased to see him.

"You..." Words failed him. He was truthfully thrilled to see her - if only the emotion would present itself. "You're -"

"Yes, I made it in." She smirked kindly. "All kinds of loopholes for possession, apparently."

"Sister, I'm - I'm so very pleased for you."

"Well, thank you, Father. Oh!" She covered her mouth. "Sorry. You're not a Father, anymore."

"No, no I suppose I'm not."

Max cleared his throat again. "Lots to go over here, Mr. Howell."

"Howard."

"Mm-hm. Two deaths on your hands?"

"Ah..."

"Direct deaths." Eunice supplied for Max. "Mine, and Shelly's."

"Mm." A page flip. "Looks like a mercy killing for this Shelly." Max nodded. "Oh, nice and complex here, Sister. Pushed off a balcony to release you from a demon's grip?"

"Yes." Eunice nodded. "Ultimately a good outcome for both of us."

"Agreed." Max nodded. Timothy swallowed. "Hm. Not a virgin, I see."

Timothy blushed. Eunice hissed apologetically. "Yeah, that was me. Sorry about that." She leaned over the desk, pointing. "See? Demon again."

"Ohhh, yes. Demon." Max extracted a silver pen from an inside pocket. Scribbled a few notes. "What's this Nazi doctor thing?"

"I -"

Eunice held out a hand, silencing him. "Oh, he smoked everybody." She reassured. "Dr. Arden did. Blackmailer. He's the weirdo who went into the crematorium with me."

Timothy stared at the nun. Why was she covering for him? What was her end game?

Max nodded. "Ah, that one! I remember him. Straight to -"

"Yep, straight to Hell." Eunice tisked. "Not a chance with that one."

Max's lips pursed. "Hmph. Pride...Ambition. Pope, huh?" A bright flush crept up Timothy's neck. Max chuckled. "Well, we get that all the time." He scanned further. Eunice watched patiently, still smiling away. "The uh - the lies get a little concerning, Sister."

She looked squarely at Timothy. "You told a lot of lies."

He nodded. "I know."

"This here..." Max tapped the paper, tilted it to Eunice. "That's not good."

Eunice tisked. "No, that's a pretty big one." She shrugged. "But you know...could be something for him to work on."

Max read on. "Hm. Perhaps." He opened a desk drawer. "Let's see here, where's that file? Sounds familiar...They sent it with your review material and I - ah!" Max extracted another paper-clipped dossier. Flipped a few pages.

Eunice peeked again. "Yes, that's her!" She pointed at the paper.

"Judy Martin." Max read.

Timothy's gut curled. It was the first thing he'd felt since his death. A raw, clenching, scathing punch to his plexus. "Jude..." he whispered.

Max and Eunice watched him double over. "Huh." Max tapped the paper. Compared the two files. Eunice was skimming over his shoulder. Suddenly, she leaned toward Max's ear. Whispered something behind a hiding hand. Max nodded, considering. An occasional grunt.

Timothy's fingers gripped the thin wooden armrests. His throat was starting to burn for some reason. He wished there was water.

"What do you think?" Eunice asked, finally done with her secret conversation.

"I'm willing to give it a go." Max stretched in his chair. "Almost my lunch, anyway." He squared up, looked at Timothy. "This Sister still likes you for some reason, my friend. Personally, I think you'd do well in Hell, but..." He looked up at Eunice fondly. "This one, I trust."

He looked to Mary Eunice, whose smile had suddenly faltered. She crouched before him. "Timothy. This is big. You hear me?" He nodded. "You only get one chance at this. And unfortunately..." She glanced at Max. "It still doesn't guarantee you a spot in Heaven."

He nodded. "What am I -"

"Sh." She put a finger to his lips. "You're going to chill in Purgatory for a while. Understand?"

"Purgatory..." He repeated. Yes, better than Hell. In fact, it felt like a blessing at the moment.

"Right," Eunice continued. "Limbo. How low can you go?" She giggled.

"Sister -"

"Sh." She hushed him again. "You have a thousand questions. We don't have a thousand answers. And even if we did, we wouldn't give them to you. It doesn't work that way. You want to know what you're supposed to do while you're there. You're wondering what it's going to be like. If you'll still be craving fried chicken when you get there." (And he _was_ craving fried chicken. Desperately.) "You're wondering if you'll be alone, or tortured. Doomed to walk a vacuous wasteland for all eternity, driven by some nameless force to build a tower out of pebbles and flog yourself every hour on the hour with a chariot lash. And I admire your creative thinking. But honestly it's so simple the stupidest person can figure it out: you just have to be good. Do _good_ , Timothy. For all the bad stuff you heaped upon your own shoulders as a slightly effeminate mortal man, do enough good to cancel it out." She put her hands on his. They were amazingly warm. "We're sending you to a sort of special Limbo, too. Where there's...a familiar face."

"Jude." He felt moisture in his eyes. "Jude is there."

"I wouldn't call her that." Eunice smiled.

"Jude...killed herself, as well?" Maybe a tear fell.

It did fall, because Eunice touched it with a warm fingertip. "No. No, she didn't. She actually had quite a lovely ending. But...Heaven wasn't for her. And she's...still waiting. For something. Something she waited all her life for. And whether you realize it or not, you've waited for it, too. You just foolishly replaced it with ambitious goals and empty desires."

"What - what is it?" He asked. He was despairing for the answer.

"I can't tell you that." The nun drew away looking sad. "But if you're willing to humble yourself, and open yourself, you'll figure it out relatively quickly."

"Humble myself." He repeated. He was starting to understand. Just starting. "How do I go there?"

"I'll take you." Eunice stood. "If that's okay, Max?"

"I'll leave him in your capable hands, Sister." Max stapled some papers. "I'm gonna need you to sign these, Mr. Howell." Timothy didn't argue this time, simply took the pen. "Mary Eunice here will see to your settling into your new domicile."

"Um." Timothy looked down at himself. "Will I -"

"You'll have clothes." Eunice patted his shoulder a little awkwardly. "You'll have everything you need. I promise."

"Oh." He took her proffered hands. "Do we -"

But he must have blinked before he finished his question, because when he opened his eyes, he was simply somewhere else.

A kitchen? He blinked, looking about. A small kitchen, specifically. Rather dark. Wooden floors creaked under his feet. There was a tiny breakfast style table, formica, with two red vinyl chairs. The stove looked worse for wear, but clean. A plaid sofa. Brown, unassuming recliner. A television. Through a door to his right, he glimpsed a double bed and end tables. Perhaps a chest of drawers? It was...simple. Rugged.

"Is this..."

"Waltham, Massachussetts." Eunice headed for the stove. Above it were several shelves and on one shelf, a coffee can. She took it down. "There's money in here. There always will be. Just what you need." She shook it. He heard the jingle of coin and the rustle of bills. Nodded. "And through here..." He followed her to his bedroom. A closet. She opened the creaky door and pulled a cord. "Clothes. They'll fit." The closet light flickered and a moth fluttered in. "Your bathroom has everything, too." An aside. "The shower leaks, so wrap a rag around it."

"Is this a..." He gestured. "A part of Purgatory?"

"For you, yes. But all showers are leaky in Purgatory." She pulled aside a faded curtain and pointed outside. "That's your car. It runs. Won't need anything." A dark green Nash Cosmopolitan. "Um..." She paused and looked around, thinking. "I believe that's about it. Everything works fine. Phone is in the kitchen by the backdoor. Oh! Your refrigerator. There will always be food in it." As if reading his mind, she leaned toward him. " _Not_ fried chicken. But a chicken. You'll have to learn to cook."

He winced. "And...Jude?"

Eunice chuckled. "Also not in your refrigerator." He followed her back into the kitchen. She leaned against his table, faced him. "You have to live here. A life. You'll find Jude. You'll find everything you need. If you let yourself."

"Yes, I understand that." He rubbed his head. It was a lot to take in, really.

"Why don't you get yourself a shower. Get dressed. Go out. Find yourself that fried chicken. Maybe...grab a drink somewhere?"

"Wine?" That sounded divine, really. What wine paired well with fried chicken? Honestly, didn't matter.

"I don't know about wine." Eunice looked doubtful. "But...maybe."

He looked at his arms, wondered how he would go about covering this particular mistake. Eunice stood before him. "Oh, that." She murmured. "Here." Her hands slipped over his inner arms, not touching him. Warmth spread. His whole body tingled and suddenly - emotions. Suddenly tears, and fear and weakness. He bowed his head and her warm hands took his cheeks. "Timothy." He looked at her, unashamed of his tears. "I forgive you." His tears became heaves. "And it's okay to regret who you were." She let go his face and tilted his arms toward his face. "Not perfect, but...better?"

Two long, raised scars. "Much better," he whispered.

"Just wear sleeves." She patted his cheek. He nodded. "I'm going now. You have any questions?"

"Any you can answer?"

"Probably not."

He smiled falteringly. "I think I'll figure this out."

He'd never realized her eyes were so bright. She smiled softly. "I think you will, too." He closed his eyes in a silent prayer, a prayer of gratitude, and when he looked up - predictably - she was gone.

The little house was quiet. On top of the console television was a silver RCA radio. He flicked a dial experimentally. He was assailed by loud, bluesy, quickstep rock:

 _Wide wide hips_

 _Sugar coated lips_

 _Long blonde wavy hair_

Scrambled for the volume control. It was on the side.

 _The way she walk_

 _The way she talk_

 _You know I won't lie_

He managed to control the wailing, but froze at the lyrics spilling forth.

 _Got to get that lovin' down_

 _She's my cutie named Judy_

 _A cutie named Judy_

 _I got a thang with_

 _A cutie named Judy_

 _A cutie named Judy_

 _Now she my rock n' roll baby_

 _Cuz she just came to town_

 _Sloppy joe sweater_

 _And a real tight skirt_

He found a small smile spreading across his face. It seemed signs were everywhere. He turned the volume back up, and headed for his shower. Exploration was in order. And fried chicken.

 _The way she walk_

 _You know it leave me hurt_

 _Cuz she's a cutie named Judy_

 _A new little cutie named Judy_

 _Well she locked the doors_

 _And she turned out the light_

 _Ran right to me_

 _And she held me tight_

Yes, the shower leaked a bit but the water pressure was wonderful and the heat sparked the new found nerves in his skin. There was soap and a razor on a tray across the clawfoot tub. He regarded the razor for a moment too long, perhaps.

 _She's my cutie named Judy_

 _A new little cutie named Judy_

A fluffy cotton towel hung within arms reach outside the circling shower curtain. He toweled off briskly, still pleased with his repaired arms. The scars were bright pink from the shower but not as unpleasant as the gashes previous. Real second chances...

The clothes were straightforward. Black and khaki trousers. A few oxford shirts. In the tall chest of drawers were underwear and socks. Some soft v-neck tees. A few sets of cotton pajamas. Comfy things.

 _Judy Blue_

 _Why are you so red?  
Is it cause the thoughts in your mind_

 _leave you feelin' sad?_

The radio had switched tactics. Slow. Jazzy. He was tempted to snap along to this soulful singer's croon.

 _And why are you naked underneath my sheets?  
You should be happy when you're with me_

 _Judy,blue skies are waiting for you_

His brows rose as he settled tugged down a tee. He hadn't listened to secular music in a long time. Seemed it was becoming far more...suggestive than it used to be.

 _You don't have to draw the curtain_

 _To see the sun shine through_

 _There's a lot of trouble_

 _But you know I'll be holding you_

The black trousers fit perfectly. He tucked his tee and slipped into a dove grey Oxford. A belt hung on a tie rack and he buckled it on. Was it cold outside? A black leather coat hung at back of the closet. He grabbed it just in case.

 _Judy, don't be red_

 _Judy Blue Paris is waiting_

 _And we don't have much time  
Before the plane is leaving_

He stepped into the black loafers and closed the closet. A full length mirror hung on the door and he cocked his head, staring at himself. When had he grown so old? Or was that regret marring his forehead, darkening beneath his eyes? He sighed. The coffee can held a wad of various bills and random coins. Didn't seem like much, but he trusted it was all he needed, as Eunice said. He stuffed it into his pocket.

 _Oh, you're so wonderful_

 _Wonderful you are_

 _Leave behind your stress_

 _Just look into my eyes,_

 _and You will find that_

 _I'm I'm those blue skies,  
that have been waiting for you_

There was a fedora hanging on the coat rack by the door. Timothy cocked it on his head, took the keys from a little gold hook. He glanced back. Left the radio playing, and left his humble home.

 _You don't have to draw the curtain_

 _To see my love shine through_

 _There's a lot of trouble_

 _But you know I'll be holding you_

 _Judy, don't be red_

 _Judy, blue skies are waiting for you_

So the little house was white. A small screened porch with steps that led to a grassy corner lot. To the right, more blocks of houses - mostly darkened. To the left, a glow down the road that suggested civilization. The Nash cranked smoothly. He backed from his drive and turned toward the unknown.

He passed through a town center. Maine Street. He knew he wasn't far from Boston, familiar with the territory, but the big city atmosphere hadn't completely permeated this small town. He saw several restaurants, but they seemed to be as dark as the shopfronts. It wasn't until he'd reached the city limits he saw any sign of life: a sprawling brick building, surrounded by bright lamps and crawling with cars.

People gallivanted about, arm in arm, carousing. Yelling to one another. Some singing. Men. Women. Young. Old. _Not_ a restaurant. _Definitely_ a bar. But they might have food.

Or wine.

He found a parking place beneath a copse of trees at the edge of the crowded lot and made his way to the door. There seemed to be a door check. When he slipped inside, he was greeted by a woman on a tall stool. "It's a buck tonight, fella." She held out her hand. "Live show on Fridays."

He dug in his pocket and extracted the dollar. The woman looked vaguely familiar. Something about the mouth. A long, slim face. Bobbed, straight brown hair. He couldn't quite place the recognition. "You don't look familiar." She rubbed a stamp across the back of his hand.

"I just moved here," he explained.

"Huh." She gestured with her head for him to enter. "Welcome to Hathaway's."

Down a short set of steps to an expansive main floor. The bar was long, mirrored. He spotted three bartenders, nearly full stools. There were tables - at least 40. A band was tuning. Brass. Drums. A cello. Smoke rolled through the dimness. Timothy made his way to the end of the bar near the open dance floor. A tender was quick to spot him. "What'll it be, stranger?"

"Ah. Do you have wine?"

The bartender - pleasantly bald - laughed. "Fraid not, friend. Beer. Liquor. I got sodas and mixer. Tell ya what. I'll do half vodka half grape pop. That's like wine, right?"

Timothy blushed. "I'll take a beer, then."

"I'll grab ya a special."

The tables were filling up. People stood against walls. The bar was full already. This was a busy scene. A frosty beer appeared in front of him. Timothy tried to catch the foam before it dissipated. He hadn't tasted a beer since seminary... "Need a tab, stranger?"

"Please." Timothy nodded. "And...thank you." The bartender waved him off with a laugh. Not accustomed to manners. The beer was good. Cold. Fried chicken would have been better, but... He'd take what he could get.

There was a flourish from the band and a crowd surged forward to the tables. Applause. A cheer. The walls cleared. Every head at the bar turned to the dance floor. Timothy couldn't see over the sea of bouncing, straining heads. But he could hear.

A piano. Just a few introductory notes. Light strums from the cellist. A low, weepy trombone. And a sultry, smoky voice from an angel of lust.

 _This is a man's world_

 _This is a man's world_

 _But it wouldn't be nothing_

 _Nothing without a woman or a girl_

And if he gaped when he glimpsed her through the crowd - if his mouth suddenly salivated for more than fried chicken, if his fingers gripped the beer bottle a little too tightly longing to grip a swaying hip - then he supposed he was not alone. Every man in these four walls was in sync in that moment. Sunk. Like busted battleships in waves of want.

 _You see man made the cars_

 _To take us over the road_

 _Man made the train_

 _To carry the heavy load_

He _knew_ that it was her. Only because his mind recognized her as her: the few glimpses of real her - real Jude. Her blonde hair gleamed now, golden like an angel's, curled over her shoulders. One curl captive in the wide red strap of her satin dress.

 _Man made the electric light_

 _To take us out of the dark_

 _Man made the boat for the water_

 _Like Noah made the ark_

He was reminded of the tale of Odysseus, of the Siren Circe and her song. How she'd lured weary and unwary sailors to their deaths. This woman could do that, he imagined. This Jude could kill with a chorus. As the smoke swirled around her like snakes, he studied her face. Her cheekbones. The strong jaw. The pure pout. Yes, it was Jude. But not his Jude.

 _This is a man's world_

 _This is a man's world_

 _But it wouldn't be nothing_

 _Nothing without a woman or a girl_

Her eyes he recalled were brown. Warm brown. He couldn't tell now, so far from her and with those eyes closed in song. He'd seen them angry, flashing fire. Betrayed, barely witholding tears. He'd seen them worship him once... He knew they hated him now. But he stared anyway.

 _Man think about a little bit of baby girls_

 _And a baby boys_

 _Man makes them happy_

 _Cause man makes them toys_

Her fingers drifted up the shaft of the microphone, caressed the silver and clutched when her voice deepened. She felt the song. He felt it, too. Felt that caress of her fingers. And when her eyes suddenly opened, they met his own.

 _And after man make everything everything he can_

 _Even though the man makes money_

 _To buy from other man_

Cliches. Across crowded bars their eyes met. Love at first sight. Hate at a memory. Fate intervening. Cliches. In truth, she seemed not to recognize him. Even though a smirk spread, a coy flirt. She performed for him. But didn't know him. He felt something cold in his chest that wasn't the beer. Beneath the flirt lurked hurt. Some sadness marring imperfect perfection.

 _This is a man's world_

 _This is a man's world_

 _But it wouldn't be nothing_

 _Nothing without a woman or a girl_

He held her eyes for as long as he could. As long as she would allow before they drifted on, through the dancing couples, the crowded tables, catching other mens' eyes as they moved. He was simply one of them.

The lights dimmed on the stage as the song faded. She became a silver silhouette, hands slipping over hips until they clutched satin. A fall of curls obscured her face and she looked at the floor. Applause swallowed her, and Timothy swallowed pride.

Her voice again, just speaking this time, a lilting promise in darkness. He remembered that voice so well: worshiping, begging, accusing. It was still a husky, breathy unaccepted promise. "Thank you all far coming out tonight." Shouts in response. Whistles. Cat calls. "Who's gonna buy a lady a drink?" A seductive laugh precursed a rampant run on the bar and he braced himself against the wall. "Thanks, fellahs." The light rose again and she looked back at the band, snapping time. "Let's wake 'em up."

Drums upped tempo. Horns danced. And her body became completely visible to him as the crowds parted in dance. He really wished it hadn't.

 _They tried to make me go to rehab but I said no no no_

 _Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know_

 _I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine_

 _He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go_

Her legs alone had to be sin incarnate. Long and lean and tan. She lifted and shifted the layered skirt as she moved to the beat, Medusan curls shaking.

 _I'd rather be at home with Ray_

 _I ain't got seventy days_

 _Cause there's nothing_

 _There's nothing you can teach me_

 _That I can't learn from Mr. Hathaway_

At first she thought he pointed at him, but no. It was the bartender just behind him. The pleasant bald fellow. The owner? Hathaway's, right? He gave Timothy a wink and dropped another beer before him. He'd not realized the first one was empty.

 _I didn't get a lot in class_

 _But I know it don't come in a shot glass_

When he looked back to the stage, Jude was gone, along with the microphone. He followed her voice and saw her amongst the tables, plucking raised glasses or shots from eager hands. She was a force, downing brown libation between lyrics. He scowled to see those eager hands occasionally taking her own, or worse - brushing a hip.

 _Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know_

 _I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine_

 _He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go_

But Jude didn't seem bothered by the groping. In fact, she swayed into them. Sat on a few laps. Kissed a few foreheads. Swirled beneath a few arms. She absorbed their ardor and redirected it, let it feed her coveted curves. She worked them, bending suggestively to let them tuck bills into the low cut neckline of that bastard dress or beneath a purposefully exposed garter. He felt predictable jealousy creeping alongside something unpredictable: worry.

 _He said "I just think you're depressed"_

 _This me "Yeah, baby, and the rest"_

Any one of these men - these lecherous beasts - could hurt her. What if there were some sorts of drugs in those drinks? What if one of them simply took a knife to her throat, snapped her neck like a swan's? Who would protect her? He looked around. It _did_ seem there were a couple of toughs here and there, watching closely. And the long-faced familiar from the door watched, too, a knowing smile.

 _Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know.._

Timothy gestured to Hathaway who popped over quickly with another beer. "Doin' alright there, stranger?"

"I'm fine." He hooked a thumb behind. "Does she sing here every night?"

"Judy?" The bartender shrugged. "Nah. Thursday, Friday and Saturday. She's a real crowd-pleaser."

"I can tell."

 _I don't ever wanna drink again_

 _I just, ohh I just need a friend_

 _I'm not gonna spend ten weeks_

 _Have everyone think I'm on the mend_

 _It's not just my pride_

 _It's just till these tears have dried_

He ceased watching Jude. It pained him somehow, to see her so objectified. So debased that she would allow herself to be ogled by their eyes, raped by their incessantly pawing hands. He wondered if she took them as lovers and the beer rose in his throat.

 _They tried to make me go to rehab but I said no no no_

 _Yes, I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know_

 _I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine_

 _He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go_

The music stopped and the club darkened again. Timothy realized that yes, the second beer was indeed gone. He sought his out-of-practice mind for the buzz of alcohol, but didn't recognize it yet. Not a good sign. He started sipping the third one. Found it highly unlikely he would even be able to see her, let alone speak to her. Worried she didn't even know him. He'd expected more of a reaction when she saw his face - not to simply be another of the lecherous masses. Frankly, it disgusted him. What had become of his rare bird?

 _Never know how much I love you_

 _Never know how much I care_

 _When you put your arms around me_

 _I get a fever that's so hard to bear_

 _You give me fever when you kiss me_

 _Fever when you hold me tight_

 _Fever in the morning_

 _Fever all through the night_

She was singing again. A sticky, sweltering song. He wouldn't look. Didn't turn from the bar. He would finish this beer and leave. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be. Perhaps she was so far gone in this limbo she couldn't be reached. He rubbed at his eyes. And perhaps he was, too. That whatever Eunice had spoken of - that something they were both looking for - was so lost it could never be found.

 _Sun lights up the daytime_

 _Moon lights up the night_

 _I light up when you call my name_

 _And you know I'm going to treat you right_

 _You give me fever when you kiss me_

 _Fever when you hold me tight_

 _Fever in the morning_

 _Fever all through the night_

He felt his hat lifted from his head and turned, a finger raised to accuse thievery and it was - "Jude!" But she didn't hear him. Singing still, she cocked his hat upon her own head, eyes cat creases as she slithered against him. "Uh..." Words failed. Her dress slipped against his knee and he could feel the softness of her curves beneath it. "Um."

 _Everybody's got the fever_

 _That is something you all know_

 _Fever isn't such a new thing_

 _Fever started long ago_

She took hold of his still-raised finger, twirled herself slowly beneath his arm until she was insinuated between his legs. The brim of his fedora cast a shadow on her lovely cheek. He wanted to trace the angle of the darkness to the light on her red, red lips...but she moved so swiftly, so smoothly, wrapping the beer-bereft hand over her shoulder until he loosely embraced her. His fingers itched.

 _Romeo loved Judy_

 _Judy she felt the same_

 _When he put his arms around her he said_

 _Judy Baby, you're my flame_

 _Thou giveth fever_

 _When we kisseth_

She turned to face him, still not a sign of knowledge on her flirting face. Ran hot hands down the inside of his thighs from groin to knee, dipping, undulating Jezebel. "Jude," he whispered, still unheard and she was just as quickly gone - plucked his beer as she sauntered on. "Er..." She still wore his hat.

 _Fever with thy flaming youth_

 _Fever, I'm afire_

 _Fever, yeah I burn, forsooth_

Obscured again by the dimness on stage she breathed into the mic. "Hot in here, ladies and gents." Laughter. "Let's take a break, eh? Let Mr. Hathaway wet those whistles and...whatever else needs ta get wet tonight."

She left the stage. Another run on the bar. Timothy lost sight of her in the crowd again. Turned back to the bar flustered and frustrated. His heart beat fast in his chest and his cheeks burned. She was most certainly a temptress in her element. Was this Jude? Before Sister Jude? He'd known she had a past, but never imagined...this. Although it would explain the drinking, he supposed. And the slip. He closed his eyes tightly against memories of the slip. Red as the dress she wore tonight, red as the blood of Christ. Maybe redder.

The feelings of loss resurfaced as Hathaway slid another beer before him. He had no energy or compunction to refuse. Felt the oppressive spirit of all the surrounding spirits drowning in spirits flowing over him.

And then his hat. Placed back on his head.

"Nice hat." She was beside him. All tallness and red-draped satin creature shiny with sweat. "Clear off," she groused, gesturing to the gent on his neighboring barstool who complied with a gulp and a nod. Her hip cocked onto the stool and brought the rest of her with it. He tried not to stare at the swath of leg and thigh revealed by dress slit but failed. She tilted his chin up to meet her eyes, an amused glimmer dancing there and they were as brown as he recalled. "And thanks far the beer."

"Jude." He spoke clearly. Insistently. Sought Jude in her face.

She laughed, deep and sexy. "Jude? That was a saint." She lit a cigarette. "I ain't." Her lips quirked. Legs crossed. One bumped up against his own suggestively. "It's just Judy."

"Judy," he repeated. "Do you remember me?"

She cocked her head, blew her smoke away from his face. "Hmmm. I'm afraid not, fellah." She leaned toward him. "But I hope we had a good time."

His face burned. "Jude. It's Timothy. Timothy Howard. Monsignor Howard."

"Monsignor?" Her face betrayed surprise. "Well, I'm sorry, Fathah." She started to slide from the stool. "I don't recall ya. But I apologize for stealin' yar hat like that. I'll just -"

"No!" He grabbed her arm, stilling her. "No. I'm not...well, I'm not the Monsignor anymore. I'm not - not even in the church. But we - we knew each other." His soul begged for hers. Pined for her to know him - even if to hate him, rail at him, slap his face and spit fire.

"Been a long time since I've been to church, Timothy. You did say Timothy?"

"Yes."

"Judy, ya need anything?" Hathaway had appeared before them.

"Nah, Johnny. I'm good far now." She slipped the bartender a folded wad of bills. "That should be my tab."

"Thanks, Judy. Couple more nights like this one and you'll be back on the house."

"That'll be a truly blessed day." She grinned. "You agree, Father Timothy?"

"Judy...I need to speak with you."

She regarded him curiously. "Yar a peculiar one, ya know that?" She reached for his face and he watched her pull a long, curly blonde hair from his hat brim. "What we got ta talk about, baby?"

"I've come here to find you. I needed to find you."

"Well." She spread her elbows onto the bar behind her, pushing out a rather glorious pair of breasts. "Here I am."

"Where can we speak in private?"

"In private?" Her brow cocked. She looked him up and down, considering. A wry, knowing smile graced her face. It wasn't exactly a pleasant smile. "How 'bout you take me ta dinner after the show, huh? I haven't had a bite all day. And then maybe we'll see about...talking. In private."

"Of course!" She obviously knew where food could be found. "I would love to. Jude - Judy, it's... it's good to see you. I mean, to meet you."

The peculiar look remained. "Good to meet you, too, Timothy." She stepped down from her seat. "I got another set. Wait here far me? After the show?"

"I will."

"Yeah." She looked back over her shoulder. "I bet you will."

He tried to ignore the wind of excitement in his shoulders. True, she hadn't remembered him, but she'd felt so beautifully familiar. Her skin was warm and soft, warm like Eunice's had been. And her smile - while suspicious - had been familiar, as well. A rare thing that had once been contagious to him. Jude's smiles, shy and idolizing, were not quite the same as Judy's confident seductions, but they were smiles just the same. And he'd missed them.

He watched her again when she took the stage. This time content to linger at the mic stand. Another slow medley.

 _She may not be the best lookin' woman_

 _I ever did see_

 _Nor have the charms of the ladies_

 _Of high society_

 _But the woman's got soul_

 _Worth all money and gold_

 _And all the love that I have belongs_

 _To the woman with soul_

So was Jude's soul salvageable? Was his own? Could he find her again, deep within this vixen in satin? Could he make her see his regret, his sorrow?

 _Now I'm just a regular fellow_

 _I don't need much_

 _I don't need a Cadillac car_

 _Or diamonds and such_

 _But the woman that I hold_

 _She's got to have soul_

 _And then I'm richer than the richest gold_

 _If the woman's got soul_

He supposed, lips pursing in thought, if he couldn't find Jude again... He could do as Eunice suggested. Do good. Good for this woman. Feed her, at least, tonight. Get to know her.

 _Well, I don't need a woman_

 _That's got a whole lot of class_

 _Because class in a woman_

 _Don't mean she's gonna last_

 _I need a kind of woman_

 _That when I hold, she fits up tight, yeah_

 _Oh, and when she throws it on me_

 _I give in without a fight_

He wondered and his mind wandered. Unbidden. Would Judy fit up tight? Was this woman capable of love, of adoration, as his Jude had been? _What are we here for if not to save souls?_ She had asked him once. So he asked now. Was he here to save her soul? Or his own?

 _Then I know the woman's got soul_

 _Worth all money and gold_

 _And then I'm richer than the richest gold_

 _If the woman's got soul_

 _If the woman's got soul_

 _If the woman's got soul_

 _If the woman's got soul_

Or perhaps there was some deeper connection between their two souls. The thing Mary Eunice had spoken of. What was it? What could it be?

"Well, if ya don't have a dancin' partner, now's the time ta grab one!" She was speaking from stage, holding another drink. "And this one goes out to my inconscionable lesbian friend and certified handler. " He followed her point to the familiar long-faced woman near the door. "Valerie. What the hell would I do without ya?"

 _Well sometimes I go out by myself_

 _And I look across the water_

 _And I think of all the things, what you're doing_

 _And in my head I paint a picture_

More upbeat this tune. Couples took the floor in droves. Tables were emptied and pushed back, becoming a cluster.

 _Since I've come on home_

 _Well my body's been a mess_

 _And I've missed your ginger hair_

 _And the way you like to dress_

 _Won't you come on over_

 _Stop making a fool out of me_

 _Why don't you come on over, Valerie?_

She'd taken to the floor again, dancing now with the long-faced woman. Smooth, swing moves in and out, smiling widely. They were obviously familiar. Friendly. And a new, devastating worry descended. Was Jude...gay? The molotov maven who'd earlier stroked his thighs and seemed bent on seducing every man in the room? It was inconceivable.

 _Valerie_

 _Valerie_

 _Valerie_

 _Did you have to go to jail_

 _Put your house on up for sale, did you get a good lawyer?_

 _I hope you didn't catch a ten_

 _I hope you find the right man who'll fix it for you_

 _And are you shopping anywhere_

 _Changed the color of your hair, are you busy?_

 _And did you have to pay that fine_

 _That you were dodging all the time, are you still dizzy?_

Valerie released her, moved on to dance with another woman and a small relief flooded his chest. Friends danced together, didn't they? Women danced with women in Purgatory, it seemed. And outside of it. Strange, he thought, considering Jude's no-nonsense approach to homosexuality at Briarcliff. Had that been but a facade? Was Jude but a facade? Judy in a habit, hiding from herself?

 _Since I've come on home_

 _Well my body's been a mess_

 _And I've missed your ginger hair_

 _And the way you like to dress_

 _Won't you come on over_

 _Stop making a fool out of me_

 _Why don't you come on over, Valerie?_

 _Valerie_

 _Valerie_

 _Valerie_

 _Valerie_

Hell, had Monsignor Timothy Howard been a facade? A great fraudulent fake who'd secretly and painfully enjoyed his forced deflowering? Some fattened phony who'd imagined this siren sister of the church clad in the sanguine trappings of lust, writhing beneath his hypocritical hips? Seething under his pietist lips? Was he truly no better than the lecherous masses? He needed another beer.

But there was no time because his stool spun. He was grabbed. The siren sister took his hands and pulled, pulled him to newborn feet. She smiled at him. Winked. He had no idea how to dance and it showed, so he simply let her take control. A few steps forward. A few steps back. Their old dance. She took the initiative to spin herself and her skirt flared against his thighs. She laughed so freely when he put a hand on her hip, tried to take her arm in a more traditional step. She sang - perhaps to him this time.

 _Well sometimes I go out by myself_

 _And I look across the water_

 _And I think of all the things, what you're doing_

 _And in my head I paint a picture_

She was light and lithe. Mostly light. It reflected off of her hair, her dress. She smelled like smoke and bourbon and sweat. Kissed his hands before smoothly releasing him. He stood a statue as she danced back to stage, stilled by her breathless besieging. She beguiled him.

 _Since I've come on home_

 _Well my body's been a mess_

 _And I've missed your ginger hair_

 _And the way you like to dress_

 _Won't you come on over_

 _Stop making a fool out of me_

 _Why don't you come on over, Valerie?_

 _Valerie_

She bowed. Blew kisses. The crowd loved her. And when she exited the stage, they waited. Whistling, clapping and stamping their feet until she returned moments later. "One last song," she breathed into the mic. "Since you've all been so damn sweet ta me tonight. And it's late, so I'm gonna sing ya ta sleep on this one...if any of ya are sleepin' tonight."

 _I remember you-ooh_

 _You're the one who made my dreams come true_

 _A few kisses ago_

 _I remember you-ooh_

 _You're the one who said "I love you, too"_

 _Yes, I do, didn'tcha know?_

Couples danced slowly this time. Heads on shoulders. Drifting. Her voice was softer, maybe tired. Her eyes softer, maybe tired. And they met his, boldly this time, doubtlessly.

 _I remember, too, a distant bell and stars that fell_

 _Like the rain out of the blue-ooh-ooh-ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo_

 _When my life is through_

 _And the angels ask me to recall_

 _The thrill of it all_

 _Then I will tell them I remember you-ooh_

So...did she remember him? She'd seemed too genuine earlier. There'd been no deceitful bearing in her body, her expression. Just a song, he imagined. Any song to end the evening. He would know soon enough. Over dinner. When he could speak to her as they'd once done in the kitchens of Briarcliff, alone, sharing his empty, vacuous dreams; making futile, irrelevant plans. But now, they could be different.

 _I remember, too, a distant bell and stars that fell_

 _Just like the rain out of the blue-ooh-ooh-ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo_

 _When my life is through_

 _And the angels ask me to recall_

 _The thrill of it all_

 _Then I will tell them I remember, tell them I remember_

 _Tell them I remember you_

If she truly didn't remember...they could be different.

Judy left with a deep bow. The band continued playing and Timothy had no doubt this bar would be open for some time. Swinging like the dancers. Slinging libations to the wee gestured to Hathaway. Settled his tab. His stomach growled. He waited for Jude. No, Judy. "Judy," he repeated to himself, reminding. "Judy."

"That's my name. Don't wear it out...yet." She was there just suddenly. Had heard him speaking. He blushed hotly. Again. "We still on far dinner, Tim?" That twinkle.

"Yes." He stood. Surprisingly not wobbly from the beers he'd embibed. "I'm...starving."

"Chicken and waffles okay? 'Bout all that's open right now is Nana's." She jerked her head. "Down the road apiece."

"Fried chicken?" He asked.

"What other kinda chicken goes with waffles?" She took his hat again. "Come on. We gotta sneak outta here before I get accosted."

"Accosted?"

She was pulling him through the crowd. "You think yar the only fellah wants ta take me out far dinner tonight?" Laughter. At the door, she paused, threw arms around Valerie. "Val, baby! Thanks far dancing with me!"

"Tryna get me in trouble." Valerie pulled back, held her at arms length. "If Missy finds out -"

"Yeah, tell Missy I said hi, would ya?" Jude kissed Val's cheek wetly, left a significant red stain. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

"Right on, Judy." She took Timothy's arm as they made to exit, stopping him. "Look here, stranger." She cocked her head at Jude. "Be good to her. Or I'll fuckin' end you."

"I - I will." He believed this woman. Her intense green eyes didn't play games.

"Val's just bein' over protective." Jude poked her friend in the ribs. "Ya know they say God watches out far drunks and fools? Well, so does Val. Come on, Tim. I'm gonna pass out from a lack of waffles."

She wasn't lying. A few men called out to her in the parking lot. She laughed, ignoring them. Even the one who shouted 'Marry me!' "Run, Tim! Where'd ya park?"

"This way!" He did run, tugging her along. A light rain had started to fall. He opened the Nash's passenger door for her. Watched her settle inside.

The car started as smoothly as he expected. She put his hat back on his head and shook her curls. "This weather's gonna do a real numbah on my hair." From her red bag she extracted a black and white scarf and tied it on over her hair. For just a flash, he saw his old Jude emerge. It gave him pause. She noticed, turning to him. "You okay?"

"Yes." He pulled around the building at her instruction, occasionally waiting for stumbling drunks or rowdy carousers to cross before them.

"Left on the main highway," she said. A heavy sigh. "Good show tonight."

"You were fantastic." He allowed, not looking at her, but the road.

"Aw, thanks, Tim." She poked his arm. "Yar dancin' could use some work."

"I'll practice." He found the windshield wipers.

"What was yar favorite song?" She asked. She turned on the seat, fully involved in conversing as he drove.

"Um..." He thought a moment. Answered honestly. "I liked the one where we danced."

"Yeah?" She regarded him. "I liked that one, too. Only about four miles up here on the left," she pointed vaguely. "Place called Nana's. You'll see the sign."

"Thank you."

Jude - no, Judy - chuckled. "You sure are a different type of fellah, Tim."

"Oh? How so?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Polite, far one. And ya haven't felt me up yet. So that's refreshing."

He blushed. "I would never."

"Nevah?" She asked. "That might be disappointing."

"Never against a lady's will," he specified, cracking a smile of his own. He was relaxing. Her joviality seemed to force it.

" _Lady_?!" She slapped the back of her seat laughing. "Now I _know_ ya aren't from around here!"

"I happen to think you are quite a lady." He glanced at her. "Who just happens to be very beautiful. And talented."

She sobered. Well, not really sobered. He could tell she was tipsy. But she grew serious. "That's sweet, Tim. Ya mean it?"

"I always say what I mean." But he hadn't, had he? "Or...I'm starting to."

"Yeah. Me too." She looked out his window. Cleared her throat. "Thanks far taking me out."

He considered, and asked anyway. "Do...do many men take you out like this?"

"A gal's gotta eat," she replied. She produced a mirror and checked her reflection. Refreshed her lipstick. He ignored it. "But I'll say yar a damn sight nicer company than them." Put the mirror away. "Handsome." Her fingertip brushed his ear and he knew the red flush devoured his entire head. "Oh, there!"

He saw the sign. A big, blinking one. Nana's Eats n' Treats. He wondered what the treats were. Parked the Nash under an awning, conscious of her hair woes. She started to open her door and he stopped her. "Wait."

She whistled lowly when he opened the door for her. "A real gentleman." She took his arm. "I'll try ta live up ta yar ladylike expectations."

Nana's menu was a dream come true. Fried chicken. Salisbury steak. Pork chops. Beef stew. Pancakes. Waffles. Bacon. Eggs of all kinds. And desserts on the back. Chocolate, apple, and strawberry pie. Shakes. Splits. Floats.

A perky, young black waitress took their order. Chicken and waffles all around and two Cokes. Jude extracted a flask from her purse and poured bourbon in hers. Offered it to Timothy, who declined. "You must think I'm a mess," she murmured.

"It's not my place to pass judgment." He'd thought it was once.

"Not gonna throw the first stone, huh?"

"Not I." He smiled.

"You said you were a priest once."

"I was."

"Near here?"

"For a time." He spread a hand on the slightly sticky table. "And then, I was in charge of a mental institution."

"That musta been fun."

"It was not." He grinned.

"That must be where you recognized me from." Judy joked. "I've been told I belong in a few nut huts."

"You...very much reminded me of someone there, yes." At her offended expression, he clarified. "Someone who _worked_ there."

"Ah! I get ya." She unwrapped her silverware. Laid her napkin in her lap. "Somebody ya liked?"

"I liked her very much, yes."

She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Yar girlfriend?"

"No. Not at all." He smiled. "She was a nun."

Judy slapped his hand. "Stop funnin'! I reminded you of a fuckin' nun?!"

"You did! You do, actually."

She ripped the scarf from her head, let curls spill and frizz. "Bettah?"

"Less nun-like now, yes."

"So what happened to her?"

He blinked. Looked to the napkin dispenser. "I...did something horrible to her. I abandoned her in that place. Left her to die. As a patient. She didn't belong there."

"Christ, Tim." Judy exhaled loudly. "That wasn't very gentlemanly of ya."

"No. It wasn't." He met her eyes again. "I regret it very deeply. With...my entire being, actually."

"Why'd ya do that?" She asked softly, looking at her hands in her lap.

"I was...a corrupt man. I allowed myself to be blackmailed. I believed the wrong people. They accused Jude of murder and I...did not fight for her. And even after I suspected - after I knew the truth - I was so deeply tangled in a web of lies I couldn't extract myself or her. I was ambitious. Stupid. I longed for power in the church and when I achieved it...I lost my humanity."

"Jude. That's why you called me that." Judy's brown eyes were miry. "So she died in that place?"

"No." He shook his head. "I'm told she had a lovely ending."

"Who told ya that?"

A curious question. "A mutual friend."

"Oh." Their waitress was back with plates heaped with golden fried chicken and hot buttery waffles. "An angel appears!" Judy grinned.

"This looks...amazing." Timothy stood on no ceremony and bit into a chicken wing. He felt his eyes roll back in his head. Moaned. Spoke with his mouth full. "This is the second best chicken I've ever eaten."

Judy was sopping her waffles with syrup. "Second best?" She laughed.

He nodded. "The best chicken I've ever eaten...was prepared by the nun you remind me of."

Judy winked at him. "Betcha I can top her chicken _and_ this chicken."

"I have no doubt you could." He hedged his bets. "You'll have to prove it to me sometime."

"Well." She wiped her mouth. Avoided his eyes. "I kinda don't have a stove at the moment."

"I have a stove."

A laugh. "Of course you do!"

They ate with hearty appetites. Ordered chocolate pie for dessert. Judy grew quieter as they ate. Seemed thoughtful. She didn't speak again until Timothy paid their bill. He tipped generously. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"My pleasure."

"I hope it will be." She gave him a rather shaky smile, making him wonder.

The rain had started falling in earnest. In the safe confines of the little Nash, Judy cleared her throat. "I'm staying at the Blue Moon. D'you know it?"

"I'm afraid not."

"It's close." She pointed. "Right on the main highway. It's just past Hathaway's."

He drove slower in the rain, windshield wipers struggling against the deluge. Judy mostly stared out the window. Still quiet. Timothy flipped on the car's stereo. A jazzy tune serenaded their drive. Hathaway's was still in full swing when they drove past it. "Impressive," he muttered.

"Yeah. Friday night." She cleared her throat nervously. "Hey. Slow up a bit. Turn down this next right, kay?"

It was a service road, it seemed. Long and dark. They passed a cemetery and Timothy's forehead creased. Surely she didn't stay in someplace so dismal as this? The road ended in a densely treed cul de sac. "Um..." He stopped.

Judy was rifling in her purse. Looked up. "Pull in between those trees over there. See?"

He could barely see. Followed her instructions. She'd extracted a hand-rolled cigarette. He switched off the ignition, allowing the radio to play on. Terribly nervous for some reason. She seemed nervous, too, though. Uncertainty reigned. "Hey." She nudged his elbow. "You smoke?"

"Occasionally." He hadn't had a cigarette in probably a year. Her Zippo flared and she took a drag. "Oh!" He immediately recognized the pungent odor of marijuana. "You meant..."

"Yeah." She was holding her draw, voice strained. Passed him the joint.

"Um..." He held it. Took a tiny, terrified toke. It burned, and he coughed. Couldn't seem to stop coughing. "Christ, that's -"

"Good shit, huh?" She took the joint back, laughing at him. "I take it you don't smoke _this_ occasionally."

"I've never tried it."

"You okay with it?" She attempted respect.

"It's a bit rough."

"What? You don't like it rough?" She laughed again. Seemed much more relaxed now. He blushed. "Here. I'll help you out." She took a deep drag. "Open yar mouth."

"What?"

She gestured for him to lean closer, still holding her breath, and grabbed the back of his head. Her lips were incredibly close to his and she exhaled smoke directly into his mouth. He took it in smoothly once he caught her drift. "Bettah?"

He held his breath - her breath - learning her tricks. He nodded. The stereo supplied a bluesy number.

 _You know I need your love, you got that hold over me_

 _Long as I got your love, you know that I'll never leave_

 _When I wanted you to share my life, I had no doubt in my mind_

 _And it's been you, woman, right down the line_

"That's rather..." He searched for verbiage. Was feeling much less nervous. He reached for the joint. "I think I've got this now."

She chuckled. "Like riding a bicycle."

He took a drag. "I've never done that either." And for some reason, that was hilarious. They laughed easily, hard. "But this seems less dangerous than bike riding."

 _I know how much I lean on you, only you can see_

 _Changes that I've been through have left their mark on me_

 _You've been as constant as a northern star, the brightest light that shines_

 _It's been you, woman, right down the line_

Judy was holding again. "Depends on traffic, I guess."

"Traffic!" He spluttered. That was hilarious, too. His next drag was much smoother.

"Speaking of traffic," she gestured about them. "I like yar car."

"Yes. It has wheels."

"Thank God!" She spluttered on a loud guffaw.

"Although with this weather, perhaps a boat would be more appropriate." The rain was really coming down now. Another drag.

"I like the rain," Judy murmured. "It washes everything nice and clean."

"Except for your mouth." The jab was quick and unplanned. He surprised himself with it. But she laughed until her eyes teared. The laughter was contagious.

 _I just wanna say this is my way_

 _Of telling you everything I could never say before_

 _Yeah, this is my way_

 _Of telling you that every day I'm loving you so much more_

"My fucking filthy mouth!" She took another drag and offered it back. He passed this time. She flipped open the ashtray beneath the stereo and settled the joint inside.

"Judy?"

"Hm?"

"What are we doing here?"

 _'Cause you believed in me through my darkest night_

 _Put something better inside of me, you brought me into the light_

 _Threw away all those crazy dreams, I put them all behind_

 _And it was you, woman, right down the line_

She looked suddenly shy. It was a surprising change. "I can't have men at my motel."

"Ah." He was relieved on the one hand. Frightened on the other. Her familiarity with this place was a bit daunting. How often did she do this? And with who? "You know, we could - woah!" She was on his lap so suddenly he couldn't really process what was happening.

"We could what?" She asked, unbuttoning his oxford.

He grabbed her hands. "We could just - Judy!" She pulled her hands away and attacked his belt. "Stop." He grabbed her hands again.

 _I just wanna say this is my way_

 _Of telling you everything I could never say before_

 _Yeah, this is my way_

 _Of telling you that every day I'm loving you so much more_

"Need me ta slow down?"

"I need you...I need you to..." He looked at her face. Bare wonder. She was so vulnerable. So...broken? He touched her cheek. "Just stop." But she was so beautiful. He touched her other cheek. Held her face. He could feel her quick, warm breaths on his thumbs. "Jude..." He leaned in. He wanted to kiss her.

 _If I should doubt myself, if I'm losing ground_

 _I won't turn to someone else, they'd only let me down_

 _When I wanted you to share my life, I had no doubt in my mind_

 _And it's been you, woman, right down the line_

Her fingers were fast and firm against his mouth. "I don't kiss." She said quickly. "It's nothing personal. It's just...personal."

"You don't kiss." Her hands were back in his lap, working open his trousers. He was finding it hard to resist her. And his traitorous body was giving him away quite clearly. He hissed when her hand stroked his hardness. Bent his head beneath her chin. "Jude."

She did press a soft kiss to the back of his head. "Don't call me that, baby."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, either." She slid her hands up her thighs, hiking red dress. He couldn't resist stroking her legs, fingers finding garters. "Still want me to stop?"

He kissed her neck. She didn't protest. "Want?" He asked against her pulse. She smelled faintly of gardenia - a smell he remembered fondly. "No." A deep, harsh breath. He caught her hands drifting back to his crotch. "But I _need_ you to stop."

"Don't ya want me?" She sounded hurt.

He couldn't look at her. "Of course I do, Judy. You've no idea." He chuffed a frustrated laugh. "But...not like this."

"D'ya wanna jump in the backseat?"

When he looked up, her eyes were very wet. "Judy. Please...tell me this isn't how you thank men for dinner."

"Not all men." She whispered. "But I like ya. A lot. And besides...this is all I got."

"No, it isn't." He felt tears in his own eyes. Felt strangely crushed. "You can have me." He tugged her dress down over her thighs, tempered his desire admirably. He wanted to hug her. Hold her. But something had got in the way now.

She climbed awkwardly off of his lap. Fixed her dress. Touched at her hair.

"Judy."

"Just take me home, please." Her tone brooked no argument.

He buttoned himself up and started the car, feeling completely defeated. The drive was more awkward than he could have imagined and she stared ahead the entire time. Not once looked at him.

 _I may not always love you_

 _But long as there are stars above you_

 _You never need to doubt it_

 _I'll make you so sure about it_

 _God only knows what I'd be without you_

The Blue Moo (the neon 'n' on the sign was burned out) Motel was visible from the highway. It was a sad looking affair. Dark, small rooms with tattered curtains and dirty windows. It didn't look inviting at all. Timothy frowned.

"I'm in 12." Judy pointed. She already had her purse collected. Her scarf re-tied around her hair. She was ready to flee. He pulled into an empty slot near room 12. The '2' hung upside down on her door, a question mark.

 _If you should ever leave me_

 _Though life would still go on believe me_

 _The world could show nothing to me_

 _So what good would living do me_

 _God only knows what I'd be without you_

 _God only knows what I'd be without you_

"Judy-"

"Timothy." She held up a hand, hushing him. "I thank ya far everything tonight. You've been a real gentleman."

He took her raised hand in his. It was still warm. "Judy, I'd like to see you again."

She didn't look at him. In profile, he could see her bitten lip. "I - I don't think that's a good idea."

His throat burned. "Don't say that."

"Tim...you don't belong here." She slid her fingers from his.

"No!" He took her hand again, insistent. Persistent. "It is _you_ who does not belong here, Judy. Please. See me again. I can explain. I want to help you."

 _If you should ever leave me_

 _Well life would still go on believe me_

 _The world could show nothing to me_

 _So what good would living do me_

 _God only knows what I'd be without you_

 _God only knows what I'd be without you..._

"Help me?!" Her brown eyes held bright blue light when she finally looked at him. "Help me what?"

"I - I don't know exactly."

Bitter laughter. "Yeah. That sounds about right." She opened his door, froze when she started to leave the car. "Oh, shit."

"What?" He followed her eyeline. "Who is that?"

She sighed deeply. "The hotel manager."

"What can he possibly want this late?"

"Money." She looked back into the car at him one more time. "Timothy. Do yarself a favah. Get the hell out of town. Ya don't belong here. And whatevah help ya think ya came here ta give me? Farget it. I can't be helped." His door slammed.

He watched her step underneath the hotel awning, accosted by a short balding man who seemed...angry. He watched her shake her head, hands pleading. The manager's head shook, as well. His animated hands were busily counting his fingers.

"Dammit." Timothy muttered. Whether she wanted his help or not... He stepped out of the car, approaching.

"Timothy! I said get outta here!" She insisted.

"No men allowed, Judy!" The manager reminded. "I won't tell ya again!"

"I'm not staying." Timothy raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm simply invested in the lady's well-being."

"Oh, far Christ's sake..." Judy turned away, hand to her face.

The manager laughed. "Yeah? You and how many other fellas? Her well-being owes me 12 dollars back rent and another 40 if she wants to stay this week. So just how invested are ya, buddy?"

He trusted Eunice's words and extracted the last of the bills in his pocket. "Here."

"Timothy, don't do this." Judy tried to stop his hand, but the manager was quick to grab the money. "I can't...I can't pay ya back."

The manager had counted quickly. "Well, well, well Judy. Ya finally found the right sugar daddy fer the job, eh?" He chuckled. "I'm almost sad. I was gonna work out a deal with ya could benefit both of us, but -"

"How dare you -" Timothy started toward the man, completely uncertain what his full intention of confrontation was, but completely certain it at least involved punching.

"Don't!" Jude stepped in front of him. "Stop, Tim. Not worth it."

The manager laughed. "I dunno, Judy. Maybe ya are worth it. Must be some kind of ride. This one thinks so. Yer good til next Friday." He was walking back to the dim office. Turned for a final dig. "Tell ya what. Since this one's green, I'll make an exception. He can stay. Maybe ya can make next week's rent on time that way."

Her face cast down, she turned to her door. Hand shook as she tried to insert her key. "Judy." He reached for her face. She pulled away. "Jude, look at me."

"Stop callin' me that!" He heard the tears in her voice.

"I'm sorry!" But he took her chin firmly, turned her eyes to his. It wasn't rain streaking her face. "Judy. You _are_ worth it. You are worth very much to me."

She extracted her face from his grip. "Yeah? You comin' in, then? So I can finally earn my keep?"

"Don't say that."

"Why'd ya do it?" She'd managed to open her door, stood in the jamb. "Ya don't want me as yar whore. I'm not the type of woman men like you have any other way. I'm not yar bird, so I -"

And suddenly tears were on his own face. "You were, once." He interrupted firmly. Stepped into her space. "You were once, Judy." His fingers caressed the white edges of scarf framing her face. Most of her makeup gone, she looked more like his Jude than ever. "You _were_ my rara avis."

She stared at him. Hurt? Lost? "What's that mean?"

He swallowed. "My rare bird."

"Timothy." Now her hand touched his face, traced the tears there as his traced hers. "I don't know who you think I am. But there's nothing rare about me. And I'm _not_ her." Her lips trembled. "Although ya goddamn well make me wish I was."

Kissing her seemed the right thing to do. What she'd told him in the car was forgotten. He took her lips firmly with his own, thrilled to the taste of bourbon and salt on her lips. And they were soft lips. Plump with sorrow. He ached with regret. Regret that she'd forgotten him. Regret that she was so miserably broken now. Regret that he'd broken her.

So there was apology in his kiss. And in hers...he couldn't quite decipher. Something simply empty. No recognition. No desire. Certainly no forgiveness. He pulled away slowly, opening his eyes to see hers staring.

Not staring at him, per se. Just staring. As empty as her kiss had been. Her hand fell limp to her side. "Judy?"

"I think you should go." She stepped over the threshold into blackness. He watched her helplessly. "And Timothy?"

"Yes?"

"Take my advice. Get the fuck out of here." Her door closed in his face, questioning 2 swinging.

His little house felt incredibly empty. Bereft. His little radio was not helping.

 _Of all the people in the world that I know_

 _You're the best place to go when I cry, when I cry_

 _I never asked for much before, not before_

 _Things are changed: I need more_

 _Tell me why Judy why_

He leaned against the television console. Palms flat. "I can't." He closed his eyes and knelt. A prayer before this darkened screen. "I can't reach her." And he was deeply sad. Like he hadn't felt before sadness. He let the sadness generate the weakness and wept. Hard. As hard as he imagined her weeping.

 _I never thought that she would say, say goodbye_

 _But she did, and now I want to die,_

 _I want to die I never thought that_

 _I would need, need a friend_

 _Oh, but I did in the end_

 _Tell me why Judy why_

 _Oh what a scene_

 _It's wrong for her to hang me up this way_

 _Oh, where've you been?_

"Believe it or not, this is a good sign."

He whirled on his knees to the soft voice behind him. "Sister!" Mary Eunice sat on his couch, hands folded primly in her lap.

"Timothy." She offered him a handkerchief. He cleaned up his face, knee-walked to Eunice's lap and put penitent hands on her knees.

"I've already failed."

"Have you?" She asked. "Wow. That might be a record."

"She doesn't want my help. She doesn't even remember who she is. How do I reach her like this?"

 _'Cause it's so hard to make it through the day_

 _A man my age is very young_

 _So I'm told_

 _Why do I feel so old?_

 _Tell me why Judy why, Judy why_

"You've already done more than you think. A lot more, really." She patted his head. "Quite frankly, we're impressed."

"How so?" He asked. "In just the short time now I've been here, I've managed only to make her cry, kick me out of a most probably rat-infested hovel and nearly debase herself in a car for a chicken dinner."

"I know, but those legs, am I right?" Eunice nudged him and he looked up, horrified. "I mean the chicken, Timothy." She patted the couch beside her and he sat, looking and feeling dejected. "You know...you're not being judged by your actions here. Just by your accomplishments. And sometimes... questionable actions lead to surprising accomplishments."

"But I haven't accomplished anything." He insisted. "Or...only negative things."

"It doesn't happen so fast! Purgatory is...kind of like rehab. Get me? It takes time. And it hurts. And somebody takes all the sharp objects away so next thing you know you're prying open a pack of salty nuts with your teeth." Eunice assured. He nodded agreement up to a point, but she ignored his confusion. "Tell me what had you so upset tonight. Other than what happened in the car and at the hotel."

"You know all that?"

"We know everything." He blushed. "It's okay. I thought you did great in the car, by the way. Especially as high as you were. I mean...a hot, desperate, drunk woman straddling you? Good job."

 _Oh what a scene_

 _It's wrong for her to hang me up this way_

 _Oh, where've you been?_

 _'Cause it's so hard to make it through the day_

 _There's no tomorrow_

 _'Cause my dream did not last_

 _So I live in the past_

 _Tell me why Judy why_

 _Tell me why Judy why_

 _Oh, tell me why Judy why_

"I was tempted." He confessed.

"Of course you were."

"Deeply."

"I get that." Eunice sighed. "So what stopped you?"

 _My baby, he don't talk sweet_

 _He ain't got much to say_

 _But he loves me, loves me, loves me_

 _I know that he loves me anyway_

He stood. Needed to pace. "I cannot treat her like that. Like them. All of those other men who...lovelessly use her and -"

"Oooooh, Timothy! I like that word. Lovelessly. That's nice." She grinned. "I guess the opposite of that would be...lovefully?"

"Lovingly."

"Lovingly." She nodded, considered. "I guess to treat someone lovingly, you'd have to feel... love? For them?"

 _And maybe he don't dress fine_

 _But I don't really mind_

 _'Cause every time he pulls me near_

 _I just wanna cheer_

He stopped pacing. "Judy would never love me."

"She did once."

"Not like that." He shook his head. "Jude loved what she thought I was. A concept. A perfection. A lie. I destroyed her, and destroyed myself in her eyes. She lost all love for that concept. For me."

"She did?" Eunice asked.

He was thinking. Hard. "That's why Judy is here, isn't it? After Jude was destroyed, it was Judy who came here to..."

"To what?" He was so close. Eunice could only give him so much, and she couldn't really give him anymore. But he really was so close to the answer.

"To find what you said we were looking for." He rubbed his lips. Chewed at them. "To find something." Eunice made a rolling motion with her hands - a 'keep thinking' gesture. "To find something she wanted when she was Judy. Before Jude."

 _Let's hear it for the boy_

 _Oh, let's give the boy a hand_

 _Let's hear it for my baby_

 _You know you gotta understand_

 _Oh, maybe he's no Romeo_

 _But he's my lovin' one-man show_

 _Oh, whoa, let's hear it for the boy_

 _My baby may not be rich_

 _He's watchin' every dime_

 _But he loves me, loves me, loves me_

 _We always have a real good time_

 _And maybe he sings off-key_

 _But that's alright by me, yeah_

 _'Cause what he does, he does so well_

 _Makes me wanna yell_

She clapped, pointing. "You're super warm now. Like...almost burning."

His forehead was so painfully creased even Eunice could feel it. "What did Judy want?" He asked himself. He paced again. "Fame? No. That wasn't important. She has that, in a way at least. Money? She seems to exist without much money. I mean, I suppose everyone wants money. Root of all evil and all. But men seem relatively willing to throw their money at her on any given evening, so it's not as if she..."

Eunice stared at him so hopefully, tense on his couch. Could it be? She watched him pull out a little chair at his table and sit. He cradled his forehead in one hand. "Timothy?" She prompted softly.

"The men." He murmured. "They're meaningless to her. It's why she doesn't kiss them. She said...it was personal." His head hurt now, just behind his eyes. "It's the meaning she seeks. The depth. That which lives in a kiss."

"Timothy. You're seriously pretty much engulfed in flames right now." Eunice stood behind him, an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "Say it."

"It's love. Isn't it?"

She grabbed his shoulders, shook him violently. Angels possessed a prototypical strength. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

 _Let's hear it for the boy_

 _Oh, let's give the boy a hand_

 _Let's hear it for my baby_

 _You know you gotta understand_

 _Oh, maybe he's no Romeo_

 _But he's my lovin' one-man show_

 _Oh, whoa, let's hear it for the boy_

Triumphantly, she sang along with the radio's jaunty tune, twirling about the kitchen. "You know. I shouldn't have doubted. You are really owning this challenge. I'm embarrassed that I almost bet against you."

"Bet against me?"

"Focus, Timothy." She slapped his table. "Love!"

 _When the truth is found_

 _To be lies_

 _And all the joy_

 _Within you dies_

 _Don't you want somebody to love?_

 _Don't you need somebody to love?_

 _Wouldn't you love somebody to love?_

 _You better find somebody to love_

 _Love_

"So she wants love!" He shouted. "Who doesn't? Everyone wants some kind of love in their life. I cannot give it to her."

"Why not?"

"She told me tonight. Told me to leave town, even. That I do not belong here." He shook his head. "Judy...will not find love with me."

"And Jude?"

 _When the garden flowers_

 _Baby, are dead, yes_

 _And your mind, your mind_

 _Is so full of red_

 _Don't you want somebody to love?_

 _Don't you need somebody to love?_

 _Wouldn't you love somebody to love?_

 _You better find somebody to love_

"There is no Jude, Mary Eunice!" Timothy insisted, fist hard on the table. "I destroyed Jude! To the point that she chose to never be that person again - even in her afterlife. That's why this is such a lost cause!"

"A lost cause..." Eunice frowned. A rueful laugh. "Nice pun, Timothy." He scowled, and she continued.

 _Your eyes, I say your eyes_

 _May look like his_

 _Yeah, but in your head, baby_

 _I'm afraid you don't know where it is_

 _Don't you want somebody to love?_

 _Don't you need somebody to love?_

 _Wouldn't you love somebody to love?_

"I wonder whom you're referring to as the lost cause? Jude? Or yourself? Because...honestly now. You're the one who offed himself in a bathtub in the most unfashionable way possible. And she's the one who somehow survived our brutal, questionable and often just plain abusive history of psychiatric treatment, earned her redemption, a peaceful, beautifully lit death complete with gorgeous girl on girl kissing action, and had a _choice_."

 _You better find somebody to love_

 _Tears are running_

 _They're all running down your breast_

 _And your friends, baby_

 _They treat you like a guest_

 _Don't you want somebody to love?_

 _Don't you need somebody to love?_

 _Wouldn't you love somebody to love?_

 _You better find somebody to love_

"A choice?" Timothy blinked. "Yes. She chose to be here. This place? Of all places? Why?"

Eunice shrugged. "Familiarity? She couldn't find what she was looking for in her previous life as a nun, so maybe she thought she'd do better in this one. Where she at least had more freedom."

"And...less chance of ever seeing me again." He frowned.

"You said it - not me."

 _As I walk this land of broken dreams_

 _I have visions of many things_

 _But happiness is just an illusion_

 _Filled with sadness and confusion_

 _What becomes of the broken hearted_

 _Who had love that's now departed_

 _I know I've got to find_

 _Some kind of peace of mind_

 _Maybe_

Timothy nodded, coming to a decision. Eunice gave him a reassuring rub on the back. "Whatcha thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking about my little house." He admitted quietly. "Of what it's missing."

 _The roots of love grow all around_

 _But for me they come a tumblin' down_

 _Every day heartaches grow a little stronger_

 _I can't stand this pain much longer_

She glanced about, ticking off a list in her head. "I thought we had everything pretty well covered."

But he shook his head. "I think it needs...Judy. Jude."

Eunice smiled softly. "The little house? Or you?"

 _I walk in shadows searching for light_

 _Cold and alone, no comfort in sight_

 _Hoping and praying for someone to care_

 _Always moving and going nowhere_

He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Perhaps the house and I are one and the same. Small and spare. Lacking." He considered. "Lonely."

"Ah!" The nun grinned. "So maybe focusing on your need rather than hers will bring greater results."

"I can't speak for what she needs. And obviously, she can live this...hard life on her own. Perhaps I underestimate her strength. Her intelligence. As usual." He smiled ruefully. "She always had the finest instincts. And spoke her mind. I simply didn't listen. If I had, she would have saved me."

 _What becomes of the broken hearted_

 _Who had love that's now departed_

 _I know I've got to find_

 _Some kind of peace of mind_

 _Help me_

 _I'm searching though I don't succeed_

 _But someone look, there's a growing need_

 _All is lost, there's no place for beginning_

 _All that's left is an unhappy ending_

"She was a pretty good cook, too." Eunice added.

"She certainly was."

Eunice leaned toward his face, brooching seriousness. "What if she wants...um...you know..."

His forehead creased. "What?"

"You know!" A rather rude gesture. "Intimacy. Like in the car."

"Oh! That." His face reddened and he swallowed heavily. "Well. It's not that I was wholly opposed to that. Even in the car. It was just rather...sudden. And she was a bit inebriated."

"Meh." Eunice shrugged. "I think Judy can handle her liquor." A rough nudge. "By the ears!" She laughed raucously. "That's a naughty joke, Timothy. Get it?"

 _Now what becomes of the broken hearted_

 _Who had love that's now departed_

 _I know I've got to find_

 _Some kind of peace of mind_

 _I'll be searching everywhere_

 _Just to find someone to care_

 _I'll be looking everyday_

 _I know I'm gonna find a way_

 _Nothing's gonna stop me now_

 _I'll find a way somehow_

 _I'll be searching everywhere..._

Timothy rolled his eyes. "I get it, Sister." This Eunice... He thought for a moment. "She wouldn't kiss me," he said. "She said it was personal. I understand that. But what does that mean for her search?"

"That she differentiates between sex and love?"

"Then...how would she know when she found love?"

Eunice laughed. "You think kisses denote love? No, no, no. There's like a giant, encompassing, crazy list of all the insane things that people use to formally diagnose love. Kissing is at the very bottom of that list."

"Do you have a copy of that list?"

She tisked. "Oh, if only it were that easy. Timothy. Use your common sense. What comprises love to you?"

A sigh. He scratched his head. "Trust."

"Good one. What else?"

"Reliability."

"Ok. And?"

"Quality over quantity?"

"Alright, see now you're starting to sound like a radio ad for a used car dealership. But you're on the right track, really."

"Thank you." He sounded sarcastic to his own ears.

Eunice just chuckled. "Can I ask you kind of an important question?"

"Of course."

"You said you felt like Jude was missing. From your house, from you. Is that because you love Jude? Or because you feel horrifying, necrotic, debilitating, explosive guilt over basically erasing everything that made her who she was and leaving her in Briarcliff to rot like leftover coq-au-vin?"

"Oh, God." He bowed his head. "I don't know. Sister. I only ever felt love for God. And...myself. I lusted for Jude, yes. She was...a part of a deeply sinful fantasy I entertained." He blushed and flushed. Purgative, to admit these things to his angelic confessor. Purgative, but still hard as hell.

Eunice could practically feel his burning shame. She knelt in front of him. "Yes, I remember. Rome. I saw it in your head. Jude was your worshipful right hand in the Vatican, wasn't she?" He nodded, eyes closed tightly at the unbidden memories. "But Timothy...some of those things you did to her in those fantasies...I don't think they're allowed in the Vatican."

He sprung from his seat. Away from Mary Eunice. "And I'm being punished for those thoughts now, am I not? And more?"

Eunice raised her hands. "Hey. I'm not here to judge, right? Just to advise. And I told you already it's accomplishments we're looking for, not actions. And maybe part of moving past the guilt to the actions is remembering. Remembering your sins, your failures, your weaknesses. Remembering Jude."

"But I want to forget."

She stood, looking directly into his eyes. "So did she. And if you do, you end up like her. Stuck. Tim, not Timothy. Doomed forever to lust after a slutty lounge singer you can't quite explain your detrimental attraction to, banging on the backseat of a Nash in exchange for nightly chicken dinners and maybe paying extra for a smooch on your birthday, which you may or may not rememb-"

"I get it!" He interrupted her harshly. "Remember my sins and repent for them. Do good." He rubbed his eyes. "Love Judy."

Eunice stepped toward him. Shorter, she pulled his head down to touch hers. "Love Judy." She murmured. "That sounds nice, doesn't it?"

Eyes closed, he smiled at last. It did sound nice. Very simple, and very nice. He could do it. He was already on his way. And when he opened his eyes again, predictably Eunice was gone.


	2. Back to Black

**Your playlist for this chapter: Back to Black - Amy Winehouse; Explosions - Ellie Goulding; Uninvited - Alanis Morrissette; Betty's Bein' Bad - Sawyer Brown; White Flag - Bishop Briggs; Rolling in the Deep - Adele**

In his bed that night, alone, he thought of Judy in her bed, alone. He wondered if she would ever remember being Jude. He wondered if he _wanted_ her to remember being Jude or remember him as Monsignor Howard. Glaring at his raised pink scars in the lamplight, he thought of his Vatican fantasies; how he'd imagined Jude as his doting right hand nun - the stark contrast of her bare skin against the red of his Cardinal's robes as he stroked her bare breasts beneath a fall of long, blonde curls, cupped them, squeezed, his every powerful touch bending her to his will and over his massive cherry wood desk… He'd fucked Jude in his fantasies, crippled her with his lust because it was _safe_ in his mind. Wrong and ungodly but _safe_ and exquisite. The idea of a woman so worshipful, so idolizing that she would allow him total ownership of her beautiful hidden body. They would have such secrets together as sinners, lust as divine as her dinners.

He'd known her desire. Had seen it burning in her brown eyes on a daily basis. He'd basked in those flames, wondered if her fantasies were as sordid and sanguine as his were. But he doubted. Could only see her loving him in her fantasies. Soft and pristine, nurturing him - sighs in satin sheets.

He hadn't loved her. Couldn't. Not then. He'd only known love for himself. And God (sometimes). He'd mistaken love for need too late. When he'd needed Jude, she'd been there still, somewhere in her chicken fried brain. He remembered the feel of her dry, floured hands in his own bandaged ones. The worship was gone in her dead eyes, but _something_ had lingered, compelling her to give him succor again.

He remembered the day she'd come to hate him. The pure venom in her tone. The madness in her face that was just that - mad. She was so _angry._ And just in that anger. "Perfect clarity," she'd said.

He hadn't understood until he laid in a quick cooling bath, razor poised inside his elbow. He'd known precisely what awaited him, or so he thought. He would be revealed as the murderer, liar, and con-man he was and the fear guided his slice.

He'd known Hell awaited. But now...he was here. With an opportunity to heal himself and a woman he'd loved. To apologize and make right his many wrongs. To have one more chance. To create finer fantasies.

He slept well, and dreamed of Judy in his kitchen, cooking, smiling when he wrapped her in his arms from behind.

The dream of Judy in his kitchen couldn't have been a more desirable reality. Timothy sucked at cooking. He burned his first egg, scraping it violently from the bottom of the small pan. The second one fared better, but he couldn't seem to flip it without breaking its yolk. So there would be no over easy. He forgot about the two pieces of toast, so they burned, as well. He scratched the black layer off and slathered it with jelly. The glass of milk was the only thing that wasn't in some way destroyed.

He considered going to Judy's hotel. Perhaps she would see him during the day. Alone. Perhaps she would be willing to come to his little house. It seemed she remembered how to cook like Jude… But he decided to wait. It was Saturday. He would see her at Hathaway's tonight. He felt their footing had tread onto uncertain ground. She'd told him to leave town, after all. He didn't want to harrass her into a restraining order.

He explored Waltham that day. Drove into the town, past the Blue Moo(n). There were four cars in the lot, but none near Judy's room. The two on her door questioned him even from afar.

On Main Street there was a bookstore. He bought a book of new poetry and a book on how to dance. There was an ice cream parlor. A diner. A bank. A Woolworth's. A pharmacy. A butcher shop. A green grocer. It was small town America perfection.

Back at home, he read. He listened to his radio and practiced the dances in his book, but the radio still droned on songs about Judy until he simply had to turn it off. On the television was a nature program about birds that fascinated. Glorious birds of paradise and birds who danced for their mates.

He took a shower, dressed and emptied his coffee can into his pocket. He wanted to get to Hathaway's early this evening. Hoped to talk to Judy before the show.

But at Hathaway's: disappointment.

Valerie was already at the door. She didn't look very happy when she saw him. "You're back."

"Yes." He paid his dollar. "I wonder if I could speak to Judy before she performs?"

"She's not here tonight."

"What?" He blinked.

"Yeah. Peculiar that, huh?" Val leaned toward him. "Called me this afternoon saying she didn't feel so good. She'll be back next Saturday. Needs a couple days. After one night with you. Kind of suspicious if you ask me."

"I assure you I brought no harm to Judy." He insisted. "And she seemed in fine health when I left her at her motel last night."

"Huh." Valerie leaned back. "Last time Judy took a few days off she had to nurse a black eye and a busted lip. From a real nice fellah."

Timothy closed his eyes. "Christ," he murmured. "I would never hurt her."

Valerie poked his shoulder. "It's weird. You're weird. I don't know what your story is, but you got under Judy's skin and I don't know if it's good or bad."

He turned back to the door. Had nothing to prove to this difficult woman. "I'll visit her at her room."

"She doesn't want to see you." Val called after him. "Told me to tell you if I saw you. She said it would be in your best interest to forget her and move on."

He threw up his hands in frustration. "Infuriating woman!" The door slammed behind him. He slapped the Nash's steering wheel and its horn meeped. Cradled his forehead. This was going to be a long stay in Purgatory.

He read the entire book on dancing. He could now cha-cha and two-step and swing and foxtrot. He read Ginsburg and Sexton. Felt more in touch with his feminine side and an emerging drug culture. He went back to the bookstore on Wednesday. Bought a book on plumbing and _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_ by Julia Child. He fixed the leaky shower and replaced the plunger in the toilet. He cooked perfect poached eggs and a passing Hollandaise sauce. Butchered a chicken and fried it without burning anything. He ate alone at his little table, reading about soldering copper piping. He watched nature programs. Learned about bonobos and belugas and penguins and the mating rituals of seahorses. He found a deck of cards and fancied himself the best solitaire player this town had ever seen.

The week passed painfully slowly.

And Saturday didn't improve things at all.

"Didn't I tell you last week that it would be in your best interest to move on?" Val asked, poking his shoulder.

"I have no intention of leaving here without seeing Judy tonight." Timothy insisted. He was tired of Val's bullshit.

There was a crush of people behind him waiting to get in. Everyone in town had turned out for Judy's return. Val chuffed laughter and shook her head. "Is that so?"

"That's very so." He slapped his dollar into her hand.

"Well, then." She gestured to a burly fellow against the wall to take over for her at the door. "In that case, come with me. We've got a special place reserved for you tonight. At Judy's request."

He was surprised. She'd anticipated him returning, then. And if she'd reserved a place for him, maybe that meant she wanted to see him. He followed Val to a table front and center of the stage. There was a lone chair flipped on top of it. She briskly set it on the floor beside the table and gestured. "Have a seat, buddy." She patted his back, something almost sympathetic in her touch, plunked a bottle of bourbon on the table before him with a glass. "You'll want something a little stronger than beer tonight. Enjoy the show."

He watched Val leave. Such a strange woman. Tables filled around him. The bar was a wall of people. The band seemed larger tonight, tuning noisily. There were backup singers in little black dresses, their coifs matching. Timothy chewed his lip nervously. The lights dimmed. It was dark. The crowd murmured. The band quieted. A snap was heard, and the drums kicked in. When the spotlight rose on Judy, his breath caught in his throat.

 _He left no time to regret_

 _Kept his dick wet_

 _With his same old safe bet_

 _Me and my head high_

 _And my tears dry_

 _Get on without my guy_

Head to toe she was covered in black satin. A straight nearly shapeless style with a high and stiff white collar and cuffs. Her blonde curls barely showed beneath a sheer white scarf and atop that, more black satin. She stood still as a statue. Not Judy, but Jude.

 _You went back to what you knew_

 _So far removed from all that we went through_

 _And I tread a troubled track_

 _My odds are stacked_

 _I'll go back to black_

Her eyes met his purposefully tonight. They were hard eyes. There was no smile in them. They reflected the black of her dress, inky swirls of threat. Something froze within his chest.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

When she finally moved, began to sway to the sultry song, he saw the dress' hidden wonder: two long slits up both sides, revealing more leg and garter than he could have imagined. Even the sleeves were slit from shoulder to cuff. She was revealed.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

 _Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,_

 _I go back to..._

 _I go back to..._

With her eyes closed in song, he felt some respite. He couldn't decipher this maneuver. Was she taunting him? He'd told her she reminded him of a nun… Or was it possible Judy had remembered who she was? Who he was? The idea was chilling and exciting at the same time.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to…_

He maintained the eye contact when she made it. Watched her expression carefully. Her voice tonight was clear and strong, meaning in every note.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to black_

The band gave no time for a break. Over applause they drifted smoothly into the next soulful number.

 _You trembled like you'd seen a ghost_

 _And I gave in_

 _I lacked the things you need the most,_

 _You said_

 _where have you been?_

 _You wasted all that sweetness to run and hide_

 _I wonder why_

 _I remind you of the days you poured your heart into_

 _But you never tried_

There was no doubt in his mind she sang directly to him. Her eyes were wet with this song. That water threatened to spill down her cheeks, threatened to break his heart. If he could empty this building he would go to her. He would wipe those tears and taste his fingers and give her his own in return.

 _I've fallen from grace_

 _Took a blow to my face_

 _I've loved and I've lost_

 _I've loved and I've lost_

 _Explosions…_

Her voice was so rich with emotion. He felt goosebumps raise on his body. She looked to the heavens when she sang, as if staring at him had become too much. And he found himself looking at the bourbon on his table, hearing her words for the truths they were.

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

 _It will never be the same_

 _You left my soul bleeding in the dark_

 _So you could be king_

 _The rules you set are still untold to me_

 _And I've lost my faith in everything_

He'd wondered when she would leave the stage. She stood before him so suddenly, took his chin in her hand and tilted his face to meet her gaze.

 _The nights you could cope,_

 _Your intentions were gold_

 _But the mountains will shake_

 _I need to know I can still make_

 _Explosions…_

Her fingers shook when she stroked his cheek, nails drifting just off his jaw. Her whole body shook, he noticed. As if the song inside her was some entity needing deliverance. As if she was possessed.

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

She opened his bourbon. Poured a glass. Took a drink. Sang as though her throat felt no burn. When she set the empty glass back on the table, he hesitantly stroked her hand.

 _And as the floods move in_

 _And your body starts to sink_

 _I was the last thing on your mind_

 _I know you better than you think_

She whirled away from his table, black dress flaring, back to the stage where she pointed at him, passion locking her stance and there was Jude. Singing with such vehemence he could hear the tears in her voice now, see the pain in her clutching gestures.

 _'Cause it's simple darling, I gave you warning_

 _Now everything you own is falling from the sky in pieces_

 _So watch them fall with you, in slow motion_

 _I pray that you'll find peace of mind_

 _And I'll find you another time_

 _I'll love you, another time_

 _Explosions…_

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

He was glad the song was over. Glad the lights dimmed again. Glad that single piano still played just a high repetition. He needed time. She knew. She'd remembered. He rubbed his face. How now? How now would he reach her? The bourbon burned, but he needed the burn.

 _Like anyone would be_

 _I am flattered by your fascination with me_

 _Like any hot-blooded woman_

 _I have simply wanted an object to crave_

 _But you, you're not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The lights remained dim. She kept to the stage. Arms crossed over her chest, protectively. But her eyes still accused, still promised the words she sang were true.

 _Must be strangely exciting_

 _To watch the stoic squirm_

 _Must be somewhat heartening_

 _To watch shepherd meet shepherd_

 _But you you're not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The crowd was mesmerized by her. There was such beauty in her truth. In her pain. And although every lyric told him to leave, to back off, he wanted only to wrap her in his arms and sob with her.

 _Like any uncharted territory_

 _I must seem greatly intriguing_

 _You speak of my love like_

 _You have experienced love like mine before_

 _But this is not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The band's swell allowed her the luxury of a deep breath. Looking away from him, she bit her lip.

 _I don't think you unworthy_

 _I need a moment to deliberate_

Back to the darkness, a delayed round of overwhelming applause. The lights rose again. Judy cupped the microphone. "Thank you," she said. "All of you. Far coming and far waiting far me. I'm feeling much bettah today." A cymbal crash. She laughed. "I was thinkin' this week. Ya know, when yar sick, ya think?" Mutterings of agreement. "I was wonderin'...have ya evah forgotten who ya are? Or...or maybe ya loved somebody so much that ya lost yarself in that other person?" More mutterings. "Or maybe that other person just...changes you. Irreparably. Fucks you up so bad you want ta farget." Timothy bowed his head, praying for strength to listen, to hear her without speaking. "They change the way ya dress, the things ya believe, the things ya do, the way ya cook yar chicken." She laughed. "Maybe they even change yar damn name?" Answering laughter. "Or maybe you're there now. Forgotten and forgetting. I wanna reassure ya tonight: It'll come back to ya." A wink. "Yar still in there. I was still in there. And tonight, I wanna remind you all - and myself, I think - who I am." She turned to her backup singers and one of them stepped forward, unzipping the long zip at the back of the black dress. The club went dark, and he heard her whisper: "Time to wake 'em up, out there."

It was the closest thing to country music he'd heard in Hathaway's, and obviously a crowd favorite. Dancers filled the floor, and he lost sight of Jude for the moment. Fast two-steps kicked up everywhere. Timothy felt trapped at his table, and at the worst possible time.

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

 _She found out_

 _What everybody knew_

 _Too many cooks spoil the stew_

 _She don't care_

 _What nobody thinks_

 _She's gonna be bad_

 _'til the whole town stinks_

"Betty." He said, head in his hands. She definitely remembered. He looked up, rising from his chair, hoping to catch her eyes once more, needing to communicate with her. And he did manage to glimpse her. Frozen in his recognition: the red slip.

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _She's bein bad bad bad_

 _She's out bein' bad_

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

It was no wonder the crowd was gone rabid. When he'd first seen the slip, loose and discarded in a box of Jude's things, he'd been powerless to prevent imagining her in it. But his limited imagining was nothing like this. This reality of a woman whose body was solid, substantial, shaped like a devil's. In his darker dreams, Mary Eunice - possessed with her eyes blackened - wore the slip. A slip of a girl herself - playing dress-up in this vixen's silk. No. No one wore it like Jude.

 _She went home when she found out_

 _Said, "Pack your bags_

 _I want you out"_

 _Her boyfriend thought_

 _She was talking jive_

 _'til he saw her standing_

 _With a .45_

 _A .45's quicker than 409_

 _Betty cleaned house_

 _For the very last time_

And she was unapologetically flaunting her attributes. Strutting with those long legs. Slapping hips. She slid the slip up - as though it wasn't short enough - to reveal garters and just the lacy edges of what looked like black panty. She was torture.

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _She's bein bad bad bad_

 _She's out bein' bad_

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

In the crowd, she was kept busy. Too busy to taunt him. Timothy tensed, though. Pleased to see the bouncers closing in, keeping a close watch. And if he worried, he resented. He resented her freedom to flaunt this identity before a hundred before even speaking to him in confidence. Of making their past a presentation. She had a right to her anger, yes. But so did he.

 _Now if you go out_

 _And you see Betty_

 _Don't scream and shout_

 _Unless you are ready_

 _You are ready to rock_

 _Ready to roll_

 _'til hell freezes over_

 _And you catch a cold_

 _Betty's not mad_

 _She's just getting even_

 _Betty's bein' bad_

 _It's her way of leaving_

She was sweaty, gleaming in the stage lights. Smiling. It was almost a real smile. "That was fun!" The smile faltered when she caught Timothy's eyes, but she volleyed. "Let's have a sing along, yeah?" The crowd cheered. "I tell ya what. When yar part comes around, I'll go like this." She made a come hither gesture with both hands. "Ready?"

 _Take a hit, shoot me down, shoot me down_

 _I will never hit the ground, hit the ground_

 _Playing dead, I'll never do_

 _Gotta keep an eye on you_

 _Patience is wearing thin, paper thin_

 _Promises broke again, what a sin_

 _But it only feeds my energy_

 _So don't expect no sympathy_

 _Smoke, fire, it's all going up_

 _Don't you know I ain't afraid to shed a little blood_

 _Smoke, fire, flares are going up, flares are going up_

She was zealous. Victorious. Her stance and arms strong at the microphone. If silk could be armor it would be hers.

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Won't wave my white flag, no_

It was a battle cry. The bar joined her in the chant, reached hands to her as she stomped the stage. Boudica. She pointed at Timothy and he recognized: he was her enemy.

 _Oh, I won't go down slow_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Put an X on my chest, on my chest_

 _But I'm still standing cause I won't forget_

 _The hell on earth you put me through_

 _I'll save myself in spite of you_

 _Smoke, fire, it's all going up_

 _Don't you know I ain't afraid to shed a little blood_

 _Smoke, fire, flares are going up, flares are going up_

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

It was the last thing he wanted. The challenge of winning her over _this_ way. Of quelling Jude's fire, facing her ire. He'd seen it before, directed solely at him, and a coward then, he'd called her mad. Brushed off her frightening honesty, her justifiable rage and locked her away a memory to rot.

 _Won't wave my white flag, no_

 _Oh, I won't go down slow_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

That teary, fathomless wail struck him like her fist couldn't have. Called him out on his lies. He felt shame fresh and full. Would Mary Eunice tell him this, too, was a good thing? That now he'd crushed a woman - a human - twice?

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _(Wave my white flag)_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _(Won't let go)_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

In the din between songs, he remembered how he'd remembered Jude in that fateful bath. How he'd wondered at her fate. The fate of Betty Drake. How blindly, furiously he'd prayed for forgiveness. How it had been her name on his lips as the razor ripped him open. How the blood had gushed like his sorrow and it still hadn't been enough. Not Saint Jude - though, yes, he'd been a lost cause - but just Jude he'd prayed to.

 _There's a fire starting in my heart_

 _Reaching a fever pitch, it's bringing me out the dark_

 _Finally I can see you crystal clear_

 _Go 'head and sell me out and I'll lay your shit bare_

 _See how I leave with every piece of you_

 _Don't underestimate the things that I will do_

 _There's a fire starting in my heart_

 _Reaching a fever pitch_

 _And it's bringing me out the dark_

And now, in a crowded bar in Limbo, his patron saint stalked to his table, microphone a weapon, and suddenly she was on her knees on his table, singing him the song of his contrition. He didn't hide the tears on his face, but she didn't seem moved by them.

 _The scars of your love remind me of us_

 _They keep me thinking that we almost had it all_

 _The scars of your love, they leave me breathless_

 _I can't help feeling_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it, to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

Her backup singers - her army - synced so perfectly, staring at him in accusation. It was as if every eye in the bar was on his shameful face. Let them stare then. Jude stood on the table - stood - so high above him she could look down as if from Heaven.

 _Baby, I have no story to be told_

 _But I've heard one on you_

 _And I'm gonna make your head burn_

 _Think of me in the depths of your despair_

 _Make a home down there_

 _As mine sure won't be shared_

But even in her hatred, her righteous and furious anger, she was a goddess. The legs of Ozymandias alone in the desert standing. And he looked upon his works in despair.

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _The scars of your love remind me of us_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _They keep me thinking that we almost had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _The scars of your love, they leave me breathless_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _I can't help feeling_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it, to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _But you played it, with a beating_

It was true, after all. He'd used her very love, her very worship of him, against her. Every manipulation, every glorious empty promise. He'd left her to the dirty work and then discarded her when he had his first sting of manipulation himself. He hadn't deserved her, then. He didn't deserve her now. He never would.

 _Throw your soul through every open door (woah)_

 _Count your blessings to find what you look for (woah)_

 _Turn my sorrow into treasured gold (woah)_

 _You'll pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow (woah)_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _It all, it all, it all_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

Back on her knees, she bent close to his face. In any other world, it was an invitation to a kiss. In this one, it was a burning threat. She took his hand in hers and placed it on her chest. She was sticky with sweat. He could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the reverberation of her voice impossibly deep in her throat.

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _But you played it_

 _You played it_

 _You played it_

 _You played it to the beat._

On the song's final beat, she swirled from his table so quickly his hand was left lingering where her heart had been. She snatched the bottle of bourbon with her. And she was gone.

There would be no encore tonight. The band broke into a cacophanous swing and he was spurred. Standing, he saw the slightest glimpse of golden blonde disappearing stage left and followed, pushed through dancers with determined force. Down a dark set of steps he found himself in a dim hallway. A door slammed and he darted toward it. Grabbed by his collar by a firm hand.

"She warned you."

He whirled. "Valerie."

"Don't do it. You don't want to see her. Trust me."

"I must see her." His nose ran. He hadn't quite managed to control his tears and knew he was a damned mess.

"What the fuck is your story?" Valerie demanded. "Why the fuck are you here, man? Judy's fragile. The last fucking thing she needs is some ass from the past coming to -"

"I'm well aware what I did to her in the past." Firmly, but kindly, he took Valerie's hand from his chest. "You are not, Valerie. I assure you what I shared with Jude has haunted me as much as it has her. But if I miss this opportunity - to fix my astronomical fuck-up - I'm doomed in this place and so is she." Valerie searched his face, torn. "You care for her. You are her best friend. I respect that. I respect her. I only ask for the same respect in return and that you allow me to see her now. If she were to murder me, if you were to help her dispose of my mutilated corpse in the half light of dawn, it would be not only deserved but worth it for me to have this moment with her right now."

Val's brows rose. She weighed his words and found them worthy. "Fine." She stepped past him, pausing at a door at the end of the hall. "But remember this: I _do_ have a shovel in my trunk. And I will use it." He nodded. She held a hand toward him, gesturing for him to wait, and knocked at the door "Judy."

"Get him the fuck outta here, Val."

"Let me in, Judy. Please."

"Just you?"

Val's jaw worked. "Of course, just me, you salty twat."

The door opened. Val disappeared inside. Timothy leaned against the wall near the door. Prayers for strength. Minutes passed that felt like hours. He heard nothing. When the door opened, he straightened. Val's face betrayed nothing. Stone. "Ten minutes," she said. "And I'll be back. With the shovel. Just in case." She gestured him inside.

He didn't see Jude when he a dressing room. A desk strewn with cosmetics. Tattered couch. A rack of dresses. He heard water running in the adjoining bathroom and swallowed heavily. There was no door on the en suite. A light flickered inside. She stepped out glaring. "Jude."

"Betty." She said. Her voice was a rasp. From the singing, the emotion, the bare pain on her beautiful face. "Isn't that what you named me? After you erased Jude from the face of God's earth?"

"Jude, please…"

"Now _that_ I like the sound of." To be half dressed as she was, still in that damned slip, she was intimidating as Hell. "Please. I'd like to hear more pleas from you. Monsignor." A rueful, hateful laugh. "I certainly pled. Prayed. For what?" Rage bled in. She manhandled the bourbon bottle, shakily pouring a drink. "I can't fucking believe you." She turned away from him, but he could see her reflection in the dressing mirror. He couldn't separate sadness from anger. "What the fuck are you doing here? Huh? Dragging all my skeletons out of my closet? Didn't you do enough damage in life? Was there some part of me you fargot to destroy?"

"Jude. I was sent here -"

"Sent here?" Now she turned, eyes slits on him. She pointed at him, bourbon sloshing. "You shoulda been sent to hell, _Cardinal_ Howard." She spat the address.

"I do not disagree with you."

"Don't fucking patronize me, you fake pious piece of shit!" She was in his face in two long strides. "I could send you there right now. With my bare goddamn hands." But her eyes were so wet, threatening to flood over.

"I cannot begin to atone for what I did to you."

"Yar damn right!"

"But my punishment - my only chance - is to try, Jude."

"Yar only chance at what?" She asked. "Do dead cardinals get second chances at Heaven? Some kinda...Vatican loophole nobody told me about?"

"I don't know what awaits me after...this place." He watched her drop exhausted into the chair before the dresser. "But...Mary Eunice says -"

"Mary Eunice." She looked up and he saw the first flicker, the first hint of recognizable light in her eyes. "Oh, Mary Eunice…" The tears spilled in earnest. He longed to touch her, to hold her, comfort her. But that would be certain doom. She pressed the glass to her face to cool. "Tell me she fared better than we did."

"She most certainly did."

An aching smile. "Good." But it was short lived and her hate resurfaced. "I left that all behind, you know. You. Briarcliff. All that fucking pain. I wanted to farget and I did." She drained the bourbon, winced. "And now you. Goddamn you. Showing up here and -"

"Jude." He took the chance. Knelt before her. On his knees was where he needed to be. "What do you want in this place? What are you seeking here?"

"I had what I sought!" She shouted at him now, didn't attempt to control. "I was Judy Martin again! This! Strong and singing and living as I chose! Drinking as I pleased. Doing as I pleased. Fucking who I pleased -"

"This is a dismal empty life, Jude!" He raised his own voice, willing to fight fire with fire. "You can barely afford to eat! You offered me your body on the front seat of -"

"I offered you more than my body once!" Raising his voice had been a mistake. She raised hers higher. "I offered you my fucking soul, Timothy Howard! My faith! I woulda followed you anywhere, done anything you asked. I sacrificed more of my dignity for you in service to the church than I've sacrificed to any man in service on my back!"

"And I used you as they do!" He acknowledged, heat in his face, his neck. Throat thick with impotent tears. "I took advantage, Jude! I used you worse than they do! I lied! I manipulated! I _did_ destroy you! I know what I did! Don't think for a moment that I forgot as you chose to do!" Frantic, he ripped at his cuffs, bared his arms to her. "It was _you_ I prayed to as I bled. No saints. No gods. No virgins." He laughed ironically, couldn't resist the sudden insane bubble. "You have haunted me as no other ever could."

She stared at his arms. Tears still falling. Hesitantly, he reached toward her face. "Jude. I was a broken man who broke a woman that I…" The words hurt. They were there but they wouldn't come. He forced them. "A woman that I may have loved."

It was her turn to laugh. Empty, sardonic. "You only loved yarself."

"I saw that too late, Jude."

"Too late." She murmured. "So what now? I forgive you and a flock of angels fly down to lift you up to Heaven? Nevah gonna happen."

"I'm here because I need you." Simple enough to admit.

"Need me? Oh, that's rich. Need me far what? More dirty work? More lies I can tell? More cover-ups? Somebody else who's murder you wanna pin on me?"

"No murders, Jude."

"Maybe yars."

He ignored that. "No lies. Only truths now. I'm here for you."

"I don't need ya."

"I've noticed."

"Get up."

"Listen to me."

"I've listened to you. Now get up. Ten minutes is up."

He grasped the arms of her chair, trapping her. "One last thing."

She looked down at his hands near her hips, holding her captive. "Gonna kiss me again?" His face burned and she chuckled darkly. "Christ if I'd remembered earlier...I woulda slit yar throat in that car."

"Jude."

"But ya enjoyed touching me, didn't ya?" Her leg shifted, slipped up his side. His nostrils flared. He could smell her sweat. "Why didn't ya fuck me? Ya could have. I wouldn't have known ya from Adam. Coulda satisfied all that old sinful curiosity." At his surprised look, she nodded. "I had a hunch."

"Let me prove myself." He dropped his hands, freeing her. Gently shifted her leg from his side. "Let me show you my feelings for you, Jude."

She cupped his jaw. "Yar love?"

"Yes."

The cupping hand suddenly shoved his face away. He stumbled backward and she stood over him. Again. "Yar not capable of that." She flung her door open. "And it doesn't exist anyway. Val!"

He heard footsteps down the hallway. Unsteadily rose to his feet. Valerie appeared in the door, looking a little sympathetic. "See Tim out, Val. We're done here."

"Come on." Val took his sleeve. The door slammed without a second glance from Jude. "I take it that didn't go so well?" He shook his head. Val lead him out a side door into an alley near some overflowing garbage cans. A dim light hung over them, accentuating his mood. "Look, Tim." Valerie sighed. "I - I respect ya. What you said in the hall back there. I get it. You made mistakes and you wanna make 'em right. Yeah?"

"I love her." He leaned against the building. He'd said it aloud.

Val whistled lowly. "I always heard nobody can hurt you more than someone who loves you."

"That's very true."

"But Judy...she's capable of hurting you as much as you hurt her, it seems." She shrugged. "So maybe that means something?"

"No." He surrendered to the inevitable. "She is truly done with me. I honestly have no idea…" He couldn't even finish the statement. Val couldn't understand the true depth of this colossal failure.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. "I thank you, Valerie. For your assistance this evening. And for your…" He didn't know what. Gestured emptily. He started toward his car. It was late and he was exhausted.

"Hey, Tim?" He turned. "Where um...where ya stayin'? At a hotel or something?"

"I have a house," he answered. "On the corner of Maine and…" What street was it? "Cooper."

"A house?" She raised her brows. "You were pretty committed, weren't ya?"

"I was." He started back to the car. "Now completely so."

He drove recklessly back to the little house. Slammed his door. Shoved his keys onto the hook. He wanted to break something. Needed to. "Now what?" He asked the ceiling. "Now what have my actions caused? What accomplishment is this? She saw through me then, and she doesn't believe me now!" He sat on the couch. "I can't do this, Mary Eunice. Not alone. Help me." His tears squeezed through his fingers as he clutched his face. "Hell would be better than stuck here forever, watching her hate me. Watching her…" But Mary Eunice did not appear this time. He curled on the couch and wept until he slept.

In his bed that night, alone, he thought of Judy in her bed, alone. He wondered if she would ever remember being Jude. He wondered if he _wanted_ her to remember being Jude or remember him as Monsignor Howard. Glaring at his raised pink scars in the lamplight, he thought of his Vatican fantasies; how he'd imagined Jude as his doting right hand nun - the stark contrast of her bare skin against the red of his Cardinal's robes as he stroked her bare breasts beneath a fall of long, blonde curls, cupped them, squeezed, his every powerful touch bending her to his will and over his massive cherry wood desk… He'd fucked Jude in his fantasies, crippled her with his lust because it was _safe_ in his mind. Wrong and ungodly but _safe_ and exquisite. The idea of a woman so worshipful, so idolizing that she would allow him total ownership of her beautiful hidden body. They would have such secrets together as sinners, lust as divine as her dinners.

He'd known her desire. Had seen it burning in her brown eyes on a daily basis. He'd basked in those flames, wondered if her fantasies were as sordid and sanguine as his were. But he doubted. Could only see her loving him in her fantasies. Soft and pristine, nurturing him - sighs in satin sheets.

He hadn't loved her. Couldn't. Not then. He'd only known love for himself. And God (sometimes). He'd mistaken love for need too late. When he'd needed Jude, she'd been there still, somewhere in her chicken fried brain. He remembered the feel of her dry, floured hands in his own bandaged ones. The worship was gone in her dead eyes, but _something_ had lingered, compelling her to give him succor again.

He remembered the day she'd come to hate him. The pure venom in her tone. The madness in her face that was just that - mad. She was so _angry._ And just in that anger. "Perfect clarity," she'd said.

He hadn't understood until he laid in a quick cooling bath, razor poised inside his elbow. He'd known precisely what awaited him, or so he thought. He would be revealed as the murderer, liar, and con-man he was and the fear guided his slice.

He'd known Hell awaited. But now...he was here. With an opportunity to heal himself and a woman he'd loved. To apologize and make right his many wrongs. To have one more chance. To create finer fantasies.

He slept well, and dreamed of Judy in his kitchen, cooking, smiling when he wrapped her in his arms from behind.

The dream of Judy in his kitchen couldn't have been a more desirable reality. Timothy sucked at cooking. He burned his first egg, scraping it violently from the bottom of the small pan. The second one fared better, but he couldn't seem to flip it without breaking its yolk. So there would be no over easy. He forgot about the two pieces of toast, so they burned, as well. He scratched the black layer off and slathered it with jelly. The glass of milk was the only thing that wasn't in some way destroyed.

He considered going to Judy's hotel. Perhaps she would see him during the day. Alone. Perhaps she would be willing to come to his little house. It seemed she remembered how to cook like Jude… But he decided to wait. It was Saturday. He would see her at Hathaway's tonight. He felt their footing had tread onto uncertain ground. She'd told him to leave town, after all. He didn't want to harrass her into a restraining order.

He explored Waltham that day. Drove into the town, past the Blue Moo(n). There were four cars in the lot, but none near Judy's room. The two on her door questioned him even from afar.

On Main Street there was a bookstore. He bought a book of new poetry and a book on how to dance. There was an ice cream parlor. A diner. A bank. A Woolworth's. A pharmacy. A butcher shop. A green grocer. It was small town America perfection.

Back at home, he read. He listened to his radio and practiced the dances in his book, but the radio still droned on songs about Judy until he simply had to turn it off. On the television was a nature program about birds that fascinated. Glorious birds of paradise and birds who danced for their mates.

He took a shower, dressed and emptied his coffee can into his pocket. He wanted to get to Hathaway's early this evening. Hoped to talk to Judy before the show.

But at Hathaway's: disappointment.

Valerie was already at the door. She didn't look very happy when she saw him. "You're back."

"Yes." He paid his dollar. "I wonder if I could speak to Judy before she performs?"

"She's not here tonight."

"What?" He blinked.

"Yeah. Peculiar that, huh?" Val leaned toward him. "Called me this afternoon saying she didn't feel so good. She'll be back next Saturday. Needs a couple days. After one night with you. Kind of suspicious if you ask me."

"I assure you I brought no harm to Judy." He insisted. "And she seemed in fine health when I left her at her motel last night."

"Huh." Valerie leaned back. "Last time Judy took a few days off she had to nurse a black eye and a busted lip. From a real nice fellah."

Timothy closed his eyes. "Christ," he murmured. "I would never hurt her."

Valerie poked his shoulder. "It's weird. You're weird. I don't know what your story is, but you got under Judy's skin and I don't know if it's good or bad."

He turned back to the door. Had nothing to prove to this difficult woman. "I'll visit her at her room."

"She doesn't want to see you." Val called after him. "Told me to tell you if I saw you. She said it would be in your best interest to forget her and move on."

He threw up his hands in frustration. "Infuriating woman!" The door slammed behind him. He slapped the Nash's steering wheel and its horn meeped. Cradled his forehead. This was going to be a long stay in Purgatory.

He read the entire book on dancing. He could now cha-cha and two-step and swing and foxtrot. He read Ginsburg and Sexton. Felt more in touch with his feminine side and an emerging drug culture. He went back to the bookstore on Wednesday. Bought a book on plumbing and _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_ by Julia Child. He fixed the leaky shower and replaced the plunger in the toilet. He cooked perfect poached eggs and a passing Hollandaise sauce. Butchered a chicken and fried it without burning anything. He ate alone at his little table, reading about soldering copper piping. He watched nature programs. Learned about bonobos and belugas and penguins and the mating rituals of seahorses. He found a deck of cards and fancied himself the best solitaire player this town had ever seen.

The week passed painfully slowly.

And Saturday didn't improve things at all.

"Didn't I tell you last week that it would be in your best interest to move on?" Val asked, poking his shoulder.

"I have no intention of leaving here without seeing Judy tonight." Timothy insisted. He was tired of Val's bullshit.

There was a crush of people behind him waiting to get in. Everyone in town had turned out for Judy's return. Val chuffed laughter and shook her head. "Is that so?"

"That's very so." He slapped his dollar into her hand.

"Well, then." She gestured to a burly fellow against the wall to take over for her at the door. "In that case, come with me. We've got a special place reserved for you tonight. At Judy's request."

He was surprised. She'd anticipated him returning, then. And if she'd reserved a place for him, maybe that meant she wanted to see him. He followed Val to a table front and center of the stage. There was a lone chair flipped on top of it. She briskly set it on the floor beside the table and gestured. "Have a seat, buddy." She patted his back, something almost sympathetic in her touch, plunked a bottle of bourbon on the table before him with a glass. "You'll want something a little stronger than beer tonight. Enjoy the show."

He watched Val leave. Such a strange woman. Tables filled around him. The bar was a wall of people. The band seemed larger tonight, tuning noisily. There were backup singers in little black dresses, their coifs matching. Timothy chewed his lip nervously. The lights dimmed. It was dark. The crowd murmured. The band quieted. A snap was heard, and the drums kicked in. When the spotlight rose on Judy, his breath caught in his throat.

 _He left no time to regret_

 _Kept his dick wet_

 _With his same old safe bet_

 _Me and my head high_

 _And my tears dry_

 _Get on without my guy_

Head to toe she was covered in black satin. A straight nearly shapeless style with a high and stiff white collar and cuffs. Her blonde curls barely showed beneath a sheer white scarf and atop that, more black satin. She stood still as a statue. Not Judy, but Jude.

 _You went back to what you knew_

 _So far removed from all that we went through_

 _And I tread a troubled track_

 _My odds are stacked_

 _I'll go back to black_

Her eyes met his purposefully tonight. They were hard eyes. There was no smile in them. They reflected the black of her dress, inky swirls of threat. Something froze within his chest.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

When she finally moved, began to sway to the sultry song, he saw the dress' hidden wonder: two long slits up both sides, revealing more leg and garter than he could have imagined. Even the sleeves were slit from shoulder to cuff. She was revealed.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

 _Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,_

 _I go back to..._

 _I go back to..._

With her eyes closed in song, he felt some respite. He couldn't decipher this maneuver. Was she taunting him? He'd told her she reminded him of a nun… Or was it possible Judy had remembered who she was? Who he was? The idea was chilling and exciting at the same time.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to…_

He maintained the eye contact when she made it. Watched her expression carefully. Her voice tonight was clear and strong, meaning in every note.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to black_

The band gave no time for a break. Over applause they drifted smoothly into the next soulful number.

 _You trembled like you'd seen a ghost_

 _And I gave in_

 _I lacked the things you need the most,_

 _You said_

 _where have you been?_

 _You wasted all that sweetness to run and hide_

 _I wonder why_

 _I remind you of the days you poured your heart into_

 _But you never tried_

There was no doubt in his mind she sang directly to him. Her eyes were wet with this song. That water threatened to spill down her cheeks, threatened to break his heart. If he could empty this building he would go to her. He would wipe those tears and taste his fingers and give her his own in return.

 _I've fallen from grace_

 _Took a blow to my face_

 _I've loved and I've lost_

 _I've loved and I've lost_

 _Explosions…_

Her voice was so rich with emotion. He felt goosebumps raise on his body. She looked to the heavens when she sang, as if staring at him had become too much. And he found himself looking at the bourbon on his table, hearing her words for the truths they were.

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

 _It will never be the same_

 _You left my soul bleeding in the dark_

 _So you could be king_

 _The rules you set are still untold to me_

 _And I've lost my faith in everything_

He'd wondered when she would leave the stage. She stood before him so suddenly, took his chin in her hand and tilted his face to meet her gaze.

 _The nights you could cope,_

 _Your intentions were gold_

 _But the mountains will shake_

 _I need to know I can still make_

 _Explosions…_

Her fingers shook when she stroked his cheek, nails drifting just off his jaw. Her whole body shook, he noticed. As if the song inside her was some entity needing deliverance. As if she was possessed.

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

She opened his bourbon. Poured a glass. Took a drink. Sang as though her throat felt no burn. When she set the empty glass back on the table, he hesitantly stroked her hand.

 _And as the floods move in_

 _And your body starts to sink_

 _I was the last thing on your mind_

 _I know you better than you think_

She whirled away from his table, black dress flaring, back to the stage where she pointed at him, passion locking her stance and there was Jude. Singing with such vehemence he could hear the tears in her voice now, see the pain in her clutching gestures.

 _'Cause it's simple darling, I gave you warning_

 _Now everything you own is falling from the sky in pieces_

 _So watch them fall with you, in slow motion_

 _I pray that you'll find peace of mind_

 _And I'll find you another time_

 _I'll love you, another time_

 _Explosions…_

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

He was glad the song was over. Glad the lights dimmed again. Glad that single piano still played just a high repetition. He needed time. She knew. She'd remembered. He rubbed his face. How now? How now would he reach her? The bourbon burned, but he needed the burn.

 _Like anyone would be_

 _I am flattered by your fascination with me_

 _Like any hot-blooded woman_

 _I have simply wanted an object to crave_

 _But you, you're not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The lights remained dim. She kept to the stage. Arms crossed over her chest, protectively. But her eyes still accused, still promised the words she sang were true.

 _Must be strangely exciting_

 _To watch the stoic squirm_

 _Must be somewhat heartening_

 _To watch shepherd meet shepherd_

 _But you you're not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The crowd was mesmerized by her. There was such beauty in her truth. In her pain. And although every lyric told him to leave, to back off, he wanted only to wrap her in his arms and sob with her.

 _Like any uncharted territory_

 _I must seem greatly intriguing_

 _You speak of my love like_

 _You have experienced love like mine before_

 _But this is not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The band's swell allowed her the luxury of a deep breath. Looking away from him, she bit her lip.

 _I don't think you unworthy_

 _I need a moment to deliberate_

Back to the darkness, a delayed round of overwhelming applause. The lights rose again. Judy cupped the microphone. "Thank you," she said. "All of you. Far coming and far waiting far me. I'm feeling much bettah today." A cymbal crash. She laughed. "I was thinkin' this week. Ya know, when yar sick, ya think?" Mutterings of agreement. "I was wonderin'...have ya evah forgotten who ya are? Or...or maybe ya loved somebody so much that ya lost yarself in that other person?" More mutterings. "Or maybe that other person just...changes you. Irreparably. Fucks you up so bad you want ta farget." Timothy bowed his head, praying for strength to listen, to hear her without speaking. "They change the way ya dress, the things ya believe, the things ya do, the way ya cook yar chicken." She laughed. "Maybe they even change yar damn name?" Answering laughter. "Or maybe you're there now. Forgotten and forgetting. I wanna reassure ya tonight: It'll come back to ya." A wink. "Yar still in there. I was still in there. And tonight, I wanna remind you all - and myself, I think - who I am." She turned to her backup singers and one of them stepped forward, unzipping the long zip at the back of the black dress. The club went dark, and he heard her whisper: "Time to wake 'em up, out there."

It was the closest thing to country music he'd heard in Hathaway's, and obviously a crowd favorite. Dancers filled the floor, and he lost sight of Jude for the moment. Fast two-steps kicked up everywhere. Timothy felt trapped at his table, and at the worst possible time.

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

 _She found out_

 _What everybody knew_

 _Too many cooks spoil the stew_

 _She don't care_

 _What nobody thinks_

 _She's gonna be bad_

 _'til the whole town stinks_

"Betty." He said, head in his hands. She definitely remembered. He looked up, rising from his chair, hoping to catch her eyes once more, needing to communicate with her. And he did manage to glimpse her. Frozen in his recognition: the red slip.

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _She's bein bad bad bad_

 _She's out bein' bad_

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

It was no wonder the crowd was gone rabid. When he'd first seen the slip, loose and discarded in a box of Jude's things, he'd been powerless to prevent imagining her in it. But his limited imagining was nothing like this. This reality of a woman whose body was solid, substantial, shaped like a devil's. In his darker dreams, Mary Eunice - possessed with her eyes blackened - wore the slip. A slip of a girl herself - playing dress-up in this vixen's silk. No. No one wore it like Jude.

 _She went home when she found out_

 _Said, "Pack your bags_

 _I want you out"_

 _Her boyfriend thought_

 _She was talking jive_

 _'til he saw her standing_

 _With a .45_

 _A .45's quicker than 409_

 _Betty cleaned house_

 _For the very last time_

And she was unapologetically flaunting her attributes. Strutting with those long legs. Slapping hips. She slid the slip up - as though it wasn't short enough - to reveal garters and just the lacy edges of what looked like black panty. She was torture.

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _She's bein bad bad bad_

 _She's out bein' bad_

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

In the crowd, she was kept busy. Too busy to taunt him. Timothy tensed, though. Pleased to see the bouncers closing in, keeping a close watch. And if he worried, he resented. He resented her freedom to flaunt this identity before a hundred before even speaking to him in confidence. Of making their past a presentation. She had a right to her anger, yes. But so did he.

 _Now if you go out_

 _And you see Betty_

 _Don't scream and shout_

 _Unless you are ready_

 _You are ready to rock_

 _Ready to roll_

 _'til hell freezes over_

 _And you catch a cold_

 _Betty's not mad_

 _She's just getting even_

 _Betty's bein' bad_

 _It's her way of leaving_

She was sweaty, gleaming in the stage lights. Smiling. It was almost a real smile. "That was fun!" The smile faltered when she caught Timothy's eyes, but she volleyed. "Let's have a sing along, yeah?" The crowd cheered. "I tell ya what. When yar part comes around, I'll go like this." She made a come hither gesture with both hands. "Ready?"

 _Take a hit, shoot me down, shoot me down_

 _I will never hit the ground, hit the ground_

 _Playing dead, I'll never do_

 _Gotta keep an eye on you_

 _Patience is wearing thin, paper thin_

 _Promises broke again, what a sin_

 _But it only feeds my energy_

 _So don't expect no sympathy_

 _Smoke, fire, it's all going up_

 _Don't you know I ain't afraid to shed a little blood_

 _Smoke, fire, flares are going up, flares are going up_

She was zealous. Victorious. Her stance and arms strong at the microphone. If silk could be armor it would be hers.

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Won't wave my white flag, no_

It was a battle cry. The bar joined her in the chant, reached hands to her as she stomped the stage. Boudica. She pointed at Timothy and he recognized: he was her enemy.

 _Oh, I won't go down slow_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Put an X on my chest, on my chest_

 _But I'm still standing cause I won't forget_

 _The hell on earth you put me through_

 _I'll save myself in spite of you_

 _Smoke, fire, it's all going up_

 _Don't you know I ain't afraid to shed a little blood_

 _Smoke, fire, flares are going up, flares are going up_

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

It was the last thing he wanted. The challenge of winning her over _this_ way. Of quelling Jude's fire, facing her ire. He'd seen it before, directed solely at him, and a coward then, he'd called her mad. Brushed off her frightening honesty, her justifiable rage and locked her away a memory to rot.

 _Won't wave my white flag, no_

 _Oh, I won't go down slow_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

That teary, fathomless wail struck him like her fist couldn't have. Called him out on his lies. He felt shame fresh and full. Would Mary Eunice tell him this, too, was a good thing? That now he'd crushed a woman - a human - twice?

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _(Wave my white flag)_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _(Won't let go)_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

In the din between songs, he remembered how he'd remembered Jude in that fateful bath. How he'd wondered at her fate. The fate of Betty Drake. How blindly, furiously he'd prayed for forgiveness. How it had been her name on his lips as the razor ripped him open. How the blood had gushed like his sorrow and it still hadn't been enough. Not Saint Jude - though, yes, he'd been a lost cause - but just Jude he'd prayed to.

 _There's a fire starting in my heart_

 _Reaching a fever pitch, it's bringing me out the dark_

 _Finally I can see you crystal clear_

 _Go 'head and sell me out and I'll lay your shit bare_

 _See how I leave with every piece of you_

 _Don't underestimate the things that I will do_

 _There's a fire starting in my heart_

 _Reaching a fever pitch_

 _And it's bringing me out the dark_

And now, in a crowded bar in Limbo, his patron saint stalked to his table, microphone a weapon, and suddenly she was on her knees on his table, singing him the song of his contrition. He didn't hide the tears on his face, but she didn't seem moved by them.

 _The scars of your love remind me of us_

 _They keep me thinking that we almost had it all_

 _The scars of your love, they leave me breathless_

 _I can't help feeling_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it, to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

Her backup singers - her army - synced so perfectly, staring at him in accusation. It was as if every eye in the bar was on his shameful face. Let them stare then. Jude stood on the table - stood - so high above him she could look down as if from Heaven.

 _Baby, I have no story to be told_

 _But I've heard one on you_

 _And I'm gonna make your head burn_

 _Think of me in the depths of your despair_

 _Make a home down there_

 _As mine sure won't be shared_

But even in her hatred, her righteous and furious anger, she was a goddess. The legs of Ozymandias alone in the desert standing. And he looked upon his works in despair.

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _The scars of your love remind me of us_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _They keep me thinking that we almost had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _The scars of your love, they leave me breathless_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _I can't help feeling_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it, to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _But you played it, with a beating_

It was true, after all. He'd used her very love, her very worship of him, against her. Every manipulation, every glorious empty promise. He'd left her to the dirty work and then discarded her when he had his first sting of manipulation himself. He hadn't deserved her, then. He didn't deserve her now. He never would.

 _Throw your soul through every open door (woah)_

 _Count your blessings to find what you look for (woah)_

 _Turn my sorrow into treasured gold (woah)_

 _You'll pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow (woah)_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _It all, it all, it all_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

Back on her knees, she bent close to his face. In any other world, it was an invitation to a kiss. In this one, it was a burning threat. She took his hand in hers and placed it on her chest. She was sticky with sweat. He could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the reverberation of her voice impossibly deep in her throat.

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _But you played it_

 _You played it_

 _You played it_

 _You played it to the beat._

On the song's final beat, she swirled from his table so quickly his hand was left lingering where her heart had been. She snatched the bottle of bourbon with her. And she was gone.

There would be no encore tonight. The band broke into a cacophanous swing and he was spurred. Standing, he saw the slightest glimpse of golden blonde disappearing stage left and followed, pushed through dancers with determined force. Down a dark set of steps he found himself in a dim hallway. A door slammed and he darted toward it. Grabbed by his collar by a firm hand.

"She warned you."

He whirled. "Valerie."

"Don't do it. You don't want to see her. Trust me."

"I must see her." His nose ran. He hadn't quite managed to control his tears and knew he was a damned mess.

"What the fuck is your story?" Valerie demanded. "Why the fuck are you here, man? Judy's fragile. The last fucking thing she needs is some ass from the past coming to -"

"I'm well aware what I did to her in the past." Firmly, but kindly, he took Valerie's hand from his chest. "You are not, Valerie. I assure you what I shared with Jude has haunted me as much as it has her. But if I miss this opportunity - to fix my astronomical fuck-up - I'm doomed in this place and so is she." Valerie searched his face, torn. "You care for her. You are her best friend. I respect that. I respect her. I only ask for the same respect in return and that you allow me to see her now. If she were to murder me, if you were to help her dispose of my mutilated corpse in the half light of dawn, it would be not only deserved but worth it for me to have this moment with her right now."

Val's brows rose. She weighed his words and found them worthy. "Fine." She stepped past him, pausing at a door at the end of the hall. "But remember this: I _do_ have a shovel in my trunk. And I will use it." He nodded. She held a hand toward him, gesturing for him to wait, and knocked at the door "Judy."

"Get him the fuck outta here, Val."

"Let me in, Judy. Please."

"Just you?"

Val's jaw worked. "Of course, just me, you salty twat."

The door opened. Val disappeared inside. Timothy leaned against the wall near the door. Prayers for strength. Minutes passed that felt like hours. He heard nothing. When the door opened, he straightened. Val's face betrayed nothing. Stone. "Ten minutes," she said. "And I'll be back. With the shovel. Just in case." She gestured him inside.

He didn't see Jude when he a dressing room. A desk strewn with cosmetics. Tattered couch. A rack of dresses. He heard water running in the adjoining bathroom and swallowed heavily. There was no door on the en suite. A light flickered inside. She stepped out glaring. "Jude."

"Betty." She said. Her voice was a rasp. From the singing, the emotion, the bare pain on her beautiful face. "Isn't that what you named me? After you erased Jude from the face of God's earth?"

"Jude, please…"

"Now _that_ I like the sound of." To be half dressed as she was, still in that damned slip, she was intimidating as Hell. "Please. I'd like to hear more pleas from you. Monsignor." A rueful, hateful laugh. "I certainly pled. Prayed. For what?" Rage bled in. She manhandled the bourbon bottle, shakily pouring a drink. "I can't fucking believe you." She turned away from him, but he could see her reflection in the dressing mirror. He couldn't separate sadness from anger. "What the fuck are you doing here? Huh? Dragging all my skeletons out of my closet? Didn't you do enough damage in life? Was there some part of me you fargot to destroy?"

"Jude. I was sent here -"

"Sent here?" Now she turned, eyes slits on him. She pointed at him, bourbon sloshing. "You shoulda been sent to hell, _Cardinal_ Howard." She spat the address.

"I do not disagree with you."

"Don't fucking patronize me, you fake pious piece of shit!" She was in his face in two long strides. "I could send you there right now. With my bare goddamn hands." But her eyes were so wet, threatening to flood over.

"I cannot begin to atone for what I did to you."

"Yar damn right!"

"But my punishment - my only chance - is to try, Jude."

"Yar only chance at what?" She asked. "Do dead cardinals get second chances at Heaven? Some kinda...Vatican loophole nobody told me about?"

"I don't know what awaits me after...this place." He watched her drop exhausted into the chair before the dresser. "But...Mary Eunice says -"

"Mary Eunice." She looked up and he saw the first flicker, the first hint of recognizable light in her eyes. "Oh, Mary Eunice…" The tears spilled in earnest. He longed to touch her, to hold her, comfort her. But that would be certain doom. She pressed the glass to her face to cool. "Tell me she fared better than we did."

"She most certainly did."

An aching smile. "Good." But it was short lived and her hate resurfaced. "I left that all behind, you know. You. Briarcliff. All that fucking pain. I wanted to farget and I did." She drained the bourbon, winced. "And now you. Goddamn you. Showing up here and -"

"Jude." He took the chance. Knelt before her. On his knees was where he needed to be. "What do you want in this place? What are you seeking here?"

"I had what I sought!" She shouted at him now, didn't attempt to control. "I was Judy Martin again! This! Strong and singing and living as I chose! Drinking as I pleased. Doing as I pleased. Fucking who I pleased -"

"This is a dismal empty life, Jude!" He raised his own voice, willing to fight fire with fire. "You can barely afford to eat! You offered me your body on the front seat of -"

"I offered you more than my body once!" Raising his voice had been a mistake. She raised hers higher. "I offered you my fucking soul, Timothy Howard! My faith! I woulda followed you anywhere, done anything you asked. I sacrificed more of my dignity for you in service to the church than I've sacrificed to any man in service on my back!"

"And I used you as they do!" He acknowledged, heat in his face, his neck. Throat thick with impotent tears. "I took advantage, Jude! I used you worse than they do! I lied! I manipulated! I _did_ destroy you! I know what I did! Don't think for a moment that I forgot as you chose to do!" Frantic, he ripped at his cuffs, bared his arms to her. "It was _you_ I prayed to as I bled. No saints. No gods. No virgins." He laughed ironically, couldn't resist the sudden insane bubble. "You have haunted me as no other ever could."

She stared at his arms. Tears still falling. Hesitantly, he reached toward her face. "Jude. I was a broken man who broke a woman that I…" The words hurt. They were there but they wouldn't come. He forced them. "A woman that I may have loved."

It was her turn to laugh. Empty, sardonic. "You only loved yarself."

"I saw that too late, Jude."

"Too late." She murmured. "So what now? I forgive you and a flock of angels fly down to lift you up to Heaven? Nevah gonna happen."

"I'm here because I need you." Simple enough to admit.

"Need me? Oh, that's rich. Need me far what? More dirty work? More lies I can tell? More cover-ups? Somebody else who's murder you wanna pin on me?"

"No murders, Jude."

"Maybe yars."

He ignored that. "No lies. Only truths now. I'm here for you."

"I don't need ya."

"I've noticed."

"Get up."

"Listen to me."

"I've listened to you. Now get up. Ten minutes is up."

He grasped the arms of her chair, trapping her. "One last thing."

She looked down at his hands near her hips, holding her captive. "Gonna kiss me again?" His face burned and she chuckled darkly. "Christ if I'd remembered earlier...I woulda slit yar throat in that car."

"Jude."

"But ya enjoyed touching me, didn't ya?" Her leg shifted, slipped up his side. His nostrils flared. He could smell her sweat. "Why didn't ya fuck me? Ya could have. I wouldn't have known ya from Adam. Coulda satisfied all that old sinful curiosity." At his surprised look, she nodded. "I had a hunch."

"Let me prove myself." He dropped his hands, freeing her. Gently shifted her leg from his side. "Let me show you my feelings for you, Jude."

She cupped his jaw. "Yar love?"

"Yes."

The cupping hand suddenly shoved his face away. He stumbled backward and she stood over him. Again. "Yar not capable of that." She flung her door open. "And it doesn't exist anyway. Val!"

He heard footsteps down the hallway. Unsteadily rose to his feet. Valerie appeared in the door, looking a little sympathetic. "See Tim out, Val. We're done here."

"Come on." Val took his sleeve. The door slammed without a second glance from Jude. "I take it that didn't go so well?" He shook his head. Val lead him out a side door into an alley near some overflowing garbage cans. A dim light hung over them, accentuating his mood. "Look, Tim." Valerie sighed. "I - I respect ya. What you said in the hall back there. I get it. You made mistakes and you wanna make 'em right. Yeah?"

"I love her." He leaned against the building. He'd said it aloud.

Val whistled lowly. "I always heard nobody can hurt you more than someone who loves you."

"That's very true."

"But Judy...she's capable of hurting you as much as you hurt her, it seems." She shrugged. "So maybe that means something?"

"No." He surrendered to the inevitable. "She is truly done with me. I honestly have no idea…" He couldn't even finish the statement. Val couldn't understand the true depth of this colossal failure.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. "I thank you, Valerie. For your assistance this evening. And for your…" He didn't know what. Gestured emptily. He started toward his car. It was late and he was exhausted.

"Hey, Tim?" He turned. "Where um...where ya stayin'? At a hotel or something?"

"I have a house," he answered. "On the corner of Maine and…" What street was it? "Cooper."

"A house?" She raised her brows. "You were pretty committed, weren't ya?"

"I was." He started back to the car. "Now completely so."

He drove recklessly back to the little house. Slammed his door. Shoved his keys onto the hook. He wanted to break something. Needed to. "Now what?" He asked the ceiling. "Now what have my actions caused? What accomplishment is this? She saw through me then, and she doesn't believe me now!" He sat on the couch. "I can't do this, Mary Eunice. Not alone. Help me." His tears squeezed through his fingers as he clutched his face. "Hell would be better than stuck here forever, watching her hate me. Watching her…" But Mary Eunice did not appear this time. He curled on the couch and wept until he slept.

 **Your playlist for this chapter: Back to Black - Amy Winehouse; Explosions - Ellie Goulding; Uninvited - Alanis Morrissette; Betty's Bein' Bad - Sawyer Brown; White Flag - Bishop Briggs; Rolling in the Deep - Adele**

In his bed that night, alone, he thought of Judy in her bed, alone. He wondered if she would ever remember being Jude. He wondered if he _wanted_ her to remember being Jude or remember him as Monsignor Howard. Glaring at his raised pink scars in the lamplight, he thought of his Vatican fantasies; how he'd imagined Jude as his doting right hand nun - the stark contrast of her bare skin against the red of his Cardinal's robes as he stroked her bare breasts beneath a fall of long, blonde curls, cupped them, squeezed, his every powerful touch bending her to his will and over his massive cherry wood desk… He'd fucked Jude in his fantasies, crippled her with his lust because it was _safe_ in his mind. Wrong and ungodly but _safe_ and exquisite. The idea of a woman so worshipful, so idolizing that she would allow him total ownership of her beautiful hidden body. They would have such secrets together as sinners, lust as divine as her dinners.

He'd known her desire. Had seen it burning in her brown eyes on a daily basis. He'd basked in those flames, wondered if her fantasies were as sordid and sanguine as his were. But he doubted. Could only see her loving him in her fantasies. Soft and pristine, nurturing him - sighs in satin sheets.

He hadn't loved her. Couldn't. Not then. He'd only known love for himself. And God (sometimes). He'd mistaken love for need too late. When he'd needed Jude, she'd been there still, somewhere in her chicken fried brain. He remembered the feel of her dry, floured hands in his own bandaged ones. The worship was gone in her dead eyes, but _something_ had lingered, compelling her to give him succor again.

He remembered the day she'd come to hate him. The pure venom in her tone. The madness in her face that was just that - mad. She was so _angry._ And just in that anger. "Perfect clarity," she'd said.

He hadn't understood until he laid in a quick cooling bath, razor poised inside his elbow. He'd known precisely what awaited him, or so he thought. He would be revealed as the murderer, liar, and con-man he was and the fear guided his slice.

He'd known Hell awaited. But now...he was here. With an opportunity to heal himself and a woman he'd loved. To apologize and make right his many wrongs. To have one more chance. To create finer fantasies.

He slept well, and dreamed of Judy in his kitchen, cooking, smiling when he wrapped her in his arms from behind.

The dream of Judy in his kitchen couldn't have been a more desirable reality. Timothy sucked at cooking. He burned his first egg, scraping it violently from the bottom of the small pan. The second one fared better, but he couldn't seem to flip it without breaking its yolk. So there would be no over easy. He forgot about the two pieces of toast, so they burned, as well. He scratched the black layer off and slathered it with jelly. The glass of milk was the only thing that wasn't in some way destroyed.

He considered going to Judy's hotel. Perhaps she would see him during the day. Alone. Perhaps she would be willing to come to his little house. It seemed she remembered how to cook like Jude… But he decided to wait. It was Saturday. He would see her at Hathaway's tonight. He felt their footing had tread onto uncertain ground. She'd told him to leave town, after all. He didn't want to harrass her into a restraining order.

He explored Waltham that day. Drove into the town, past the Blue Moo(n). There were four cars in the lot, but none near Judy's room. The two on her door questioned him even from afar.

On Main Street there was a bookstore. He bought a book of new poetry and a book on how to dance. There was an ice cream parlor. A diner. A bank. A Woolworth's. A pharmacy. A butcher shop. A green grocer. It was small town America perfection.

Back at home, he read. He listened to his radio and practiced the dances in his book, but the radio still droned on songs about Judy until he simply had to turn it off. On the television was a nature program about birds that fascinated. Glorious birds of paradise and birds who danced for their mates.

He took a shower, dressed and emptied his coffee can into his pocket. He wanted to get to Hathaway's early this evening. Hoped to talk to Judy before the show.

But at Hathaway's: disappointment.

Valerie was already at the door. She didn't look very happy when she saw him. "You're back."

"Yes." He paid his dollar. "I wonder if I could speak to Judy before she performs?"

"She's not here tonight."

"What?" He blinked.

"Yeah. Peculiar that, huh?" Val leaned toward him. "Called me this afternoon saying she didn't feel so good. She'll be back next Saturday. Needs a couple days. After one night with you. Kind of suspicious if you ask me."

"I assure you I brought no harm to Judy." He insisted. "And she seemed in fine health when I left her at her motel last night."

"Huh." Valerie leaned back. "Last time Judy took a few days off she had to nurse a black eye and a busted lip. From a real nice fellah."

Timothy closed his eyes. "Christ," he murmured. "I would never hurt her."

Valerie poked his shoulder. "It's weird. You're weird. I don't know what your story is, but you got under Judy's skin and I don't know if it's good or bad."

He turned back to the door. Had nothing to prove to this difficult woman. "I'll visit her at her room."

"She doesn't want to see you." Val called after him. "Told me to tell you if I saw you. She said it would be in your best interest to forget her and move on."

He threw up his hands in frustration. "Infuriating woman!" The door slammed behind him. He slapped the Nash's steering wheel and its horn meeped. Cradled his forehead. This was going to be a long stay in Purgatory.

He read the entire book on dancing. He could now cha-cha and two-step and swing and foxtrot. He read Ginsburg and Sexton. Felt more in touch with his feminine side and an emerging drug culture. He went back to the bookstore on Wednesday. Bought a book on plumbing and _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_ by Julia Child. He fixed the leaky shower and replaced the plunger in the toilet. He cooked perfect poached eggs and a passing Hollandaise sauce. Butchered a chicken and fried it without burning anything. He ate alone at his little table, reading about soldering copper piping. He watched nature programs. Learned about bonobos and belugas and penguins and the mating rituals of seahorses. He found a deck of cards and fancied himself the best solitaire player this town had ever seen.

The week passed painfully slowly.

And Saturday didn't improve things at all.

"Didn't I tell you last week that it would be in your best interest to move on?" Val asked, poking his shoulder.

"I have no intention of leaving here without seeing Judy tonight." Timothy insisted. He was tired of Val's bullshit.

There was a crush of people behind him waiting to get in. Everyone in town had turned out for Judy's return. Val chuffed laughter and shook her head. "Is that so?"

"That's very so." He slapped his dollar into her hand.

"Well, then." She gestured to a burly fellow against the wall to take over for her at the door. "In that case, come with me. We've got a special place reserved for you tonight. At Judy's request."

He was surprised. She'd anticipated him returning, then. And if she'd reserved a place for him, maybe that meant she wanted to see him. He followed Val to a table front and center of the stage. There was a lone chair flipped on top of it. She briskly set it on the floor beside the table and gestured. "Have a seat, buddy." She patted his back, something almost sympathetic in her touch, plunked a bottle of bourbon on the table before him with a glass. "You'll want something a little stronger than beer tonight. Enjoy the show."

He watched Val leave. Such a strange woman. Tables filled around him. The bar was a wall of people. The band seemed larger tonight, tuning noisily. There were backup singers in little black dresses, their coifs matching. Timothy chewed his lip nervously. The lights dimmed. It was dark. The crowd murmured. The band quieted. A snap was heard, and the drums kicked in. When the spotlight rose on Judy, his breath caught in his throat.

 _He left no time to regret_

 _Kept his dick wet_

 _With his same old safe bet_

 _Me and my head high_

 _And my tears dry_

 _Get on without my guy_

Head to toe she was covered in black satin. A straight nearly shapeless style with a high and stiff white collar and cuffs. Her blonde curls barely showed beneath a sheer white scarf and atop that, more black satin. She stood still as a statue. Not Judy, but Jude.

 _You went back to what you knew_

 _So far removed from all that we went through_

 _And I tread a troubled track_

 _My odds are stacked_

 _I'll go back to black_

Her eyes met his purposefully tonight. They were hard eyes. There was no smile in them. They reflected the black of her dress, inky swirls of threat. Something froze within his chest.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

When she finally moved, began to sway to the sultry song, he saw the dress' hidden wonder: two long slits up both sides, revealing more leg and garter than he could have imagined. Even the sleeves were slit from shoulder to cuff. She was revealed.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to..._

 _Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,_

 _I go back to..._

 _I go back to..._

With her eyes closed in song, he felt some respite. He couldn't decipher this maneuver. Was she taunting him? He'd told her she reminded him of a nun… Or was it possible Judy had remembered who she was? Who he was? The idea was chilling and exciting at the same time.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to…_

He maintained the eye contact when she made it. Watched her expression carefully. Her voice tonight was clear and strong, meaning in every note.

 _We only said goodbye with words_

 _I died a hundred times_

 _You go back to her_

 _And I go back to black_

The band gave no time for a break. Over applause they drifted smoothly into the next soulful number.

 _You trembled like you'd seen a ghost_

 _And I gave in_

 _I lacked the things you need the most,_

 _You said_

 _where have you been?_

 _You wasted all that sweetness to run and hide_

 _I wonder why_

 _I remind you of the days you poured your heart into_

 _But you never tried_

There was no doubt in his mind she sang directly to him. Her eyes were wet with this song. That water threatened to spill down her cheeks, threatened to break his heart. If he could empty this building he would go to her. He would wipe those tears and taste his fingers and give her his own in return.

 _I've fallen from grace_

 _Took a blow to my face_

 _I've loved and I've lost_

 _I've loved and I've lost_

 _Explosions…_

Her voice was so rich with emotion. He felt goosebumps raise on his body. She looked to the heavens when she sang, as if staring at him had become too much. And he found himself looking at the bourbon on his table, hearing her words for the truths they were.

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

 _It will never be the same_

 _You left my soul bleeding in the dark_

 _So you could be king_

 _The rules you set are still untold to me_

 _And I've lost my faith in everything_

He'd wondered when she would leave the stage. She stood before him so suddenly, took his chin in her hand and tilted his face to meet her gaze.

 _The nights you could cope,_

 _Your intentions were gold_

 _But the mountains will shake_

 _I need to know I can still make_

 _Explosions…_

Her fingers shook when she stroked his cheek, nails drifting just off his jaw. Her whole body shook, he noticed. As if the song inside her was some entity needing deliverance. As if she was possessed.

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

She opened his bourbon. Poured a glass. Took a drink. Sang as though her throat felt no burn. When she set the empty glass back on the table, he hesitantly stroked her hand.

 _And as the floods move in_

 _And your body starts to sink_

 _I was the last thing on your mind_

 _I know you better than you think_

She whirled away from his table, black dress flaring, back to the stage where she pointed at him, passion locking her stance and there was Jude. Singing with such vehemence he could hear the tears in her voice now, see the pain in her clutching gestures.

 _'Cause it's simple darling, I gave you warning_

 _Now everything you own is falling from the sky in pieces_

 _So watch them fall with you, in slow motion_

 _I pray that you'll find peace of mind_

 _And I'll find you another time_

 _I'll love you, another time_

 _Explosions…_

 _on the day you wake up_

 _Needing somebody and you've learned_

 _It's okay to be afraid_

 _But it will never be the same_

He was glad the song was over. Glad the lights dimmed again. Glad that single piano still played just a high repetition. He needed time. She knew. She'd remembered. He rubbed his face. How now? How now would he reach her? The bourbon burned, but he needed the burn.

 _Like anyone would be_

 _I am flattered by your fascination with me_

 _Like any hot-blooded woman_

 _I have simply wanted an object to crave_

 _But you, you're not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The lights remained dim. She kept to the stage. Arms crossed over her chest, protectively. But her eyes still accused, still promised the words she sang were true.

 _Must be strangely exciting_

 _To watch the stoic squirm_

 _Must be somewhat heartening_

 _To watch shepherd meet shepherd_

 _But you you're not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The crowd was mesmerized by her. There was such beauty in her truth. In her pain. And although every lyric told him to leave, to back off, he wanted only to wrap her in his arms and sob with her.

 _Like any uncharted territory_

 _I must seem greatly intriguing_

 _You speak of my love like_

 _You have experienced love like mine before_

 _But this is not allowed_

 _You're uninvited_

 _An unfortunate slight_

The band's swell allowed her the luxury of a deep breath. Looking away from him, she bit her lip.

 _I don't think you unworthy_

 _I need a moment to deliberate_

Back to the darkness, a delayed round of overwhelming applause. The lights rose again. Judy cupped the microphone. "Thank you," she said. "All of you. Far coming and far waiting far me. I'm feeling much bettah today." A cymbal crash. She laughed. "I was thinkin' this week. Ya know, when yar sick, ya think?" Mutterings of agreement. "I was wonderin'...have ya evah forgotten who ya are? Or...or maybe ya loved somebody so much that ya lost yarself in that other person?" More mutterings. "Or maybe that other person just...changes you. Irreparably. Fucks you up so bad you want ta farget." Timothy bowed his head, praying for strength to listen, to hear her without speaking. "They change the way ya dress, the things ya believe, the things ya do, the way ya cook yar chicken." She laughed. "Maybe they even change yar damn name?" Answering laughter. "Or maybe you're there now. Forgotten and forgetting. I wanna reassure ya tonight: It'll come back to ya." A wink. "Yar still in there. I was still in there. And tonight, I wanna remind you all - and myself, I think - who I am." She turned to her backup singers and one of them stepped forward, unzipping the long zip at the back of the black dress. The club went dark, and he heard her whisper: "Time to wake 'em up, out there."

It was the closest thing to country music he'd heard in Hathaway's, and obviously a crowd favorite. Dancers filled the floor, and he lost sight of Jude for the moment. Fast two-steps kicked up everywhere. Timothy felt trapped at his table, and at the worst possible time.

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

 _She found out_

 _What everybody knew_

 _Too many cooks spoil the stew_

 _She don't care_

 _What nobody thinks_

 _She's gonna be bad_

 _'til the whole town stinks_

"Betty." He said, head in his hands. She definitely remembered. He looked up, rising from his chair, hoping to catch her eyes once more, needing to communicate with her. And he did manage to glimpse her. Frozen in his recognition: the red slip.

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _She's bein bad bad bad_

 _She's out bein' bad_

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

It was no wonder the crowd was gone rabid. When he'd first seen the slip, loose and discarded in a box of Jude's things, he'd been powerless to prevent imagining her in it. But his limited imagining was nothing like this. This reality of a woman whose body was solid, substantial, shaped like a devil's. In his darker dreams, Mary Eunice - possessed with her eyes blackened - wore the slip. A slip of a girl herself - playing dress-up in this vixen's silk. No. No one wore it like Jude.

 _She went home when she found out_

 _Said, "Pack your bags_

 _I want you out"_

 _Her boyfriend thought_

 _She was talking jive_

 _'til he saw her standing_

 _With a .45_

 _A .45's quicker than 409_

 _Betty cleaned house_

 _For the very last time_

And she was unapologetically flaunting her attributes. Strutting with those long legs. Slapping hips. She slid the slip up - as though it wasn't short enough - to reveal garters and just the lacy edges of what looked like black panty. She was torture.

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _Betty's bein bad_

 _She's bein bad bad bad_

 _She's out bein' bad_

 _Betty's out bein' bad tonight_

 _Betty and her boyfriend_

 _They had a big fight_

In the crowd, she was kept busy. Too busy to taunt him. Timothy tensed, though. Pleased to see the bouncers closing in, keeping a close watch. And if he worried, he resented. He resented her freedom to flaunt this identity before a hundred before even speaking to him in confidence. Of making their past a presentation. She had a right to her anger, yes. But so did he.

 _Now if you go out_

 _And you see Betty_

 _Don't scream and shout_

 _Unless you are ready_

 _You are ready to rock_

 _Ready to roll_

 _'til hell freezes over_

 _And you catch a cold_

 _Betty's not mad_

 _She's just getting even_

 _Betty's bein' bad_

 _It's her way of leaving_

She was sweaty, gleaming in the stage lights. Smiling. It was almost a real smile. "That was fun!" The smile faltered when she caught Timothy's eyes, but she volleyed. "Let's have a sing along, yeah?" The crowd cheered. "I tell ya what. When yar part comes around, I'll go like this." She made a come hither gesture with both hands. "Ready?"

 _Take a hit, shoot me down, shoot me down_

 _I will never hit the ground, hit the ground_

 _Playing dead, I'll never do_

 _Gotta keep an eye on you_

 _Patience is wearing thin, paper thin_

 _Promises broke again, what a sin_

 _But it only feeds my energy_

 _So don't expect no sympathy_

 _Smoke, fire, it's all going up_

 _Don't you know I ain't afraid to shed a little blood_

 _Smoke, fire, flares are going up, flares are going up_

She was zealous. Victorious. Her stance and arms strong at the microphone. If silk could be armor it would be hers.

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Won't wave my white flag, no_

It was a battle cry. The bar joined her in the chant, reached hands to her as she stomped the stage. Boudica. She pointed at Timothy and he recognized: he was her enemy.

 _Oh, I won't go down slow_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Put an X on my chest, on my chest_

 _But I'm still standing cause I won't forget_

 _The hell on earth you put me through_

 _I'll save myself in spite of you_

 _Smoke, fire, it's all going up_

 _Don't you know I ain't afraid to shed a little blood_

 _Smoke, fire, flares are going up, flares are going up_

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

It was the last thing he wanted. The challenge of winning her over _this_ way. Of quelling Jude's fire, facing her ire. He'd seen it before, directed solely at him, and a coward then, he'd called her mad. Brushed off her frightening honesty, her justifiable rage and locked her away a memory to rot.

 _Won't wave my white flag, no_

 _Oh, I won't go down slow_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa_

That teary, fathomless wail struck him like her fist couldn't have. Called him out on his lies. He felt shame fresh and full. Would Mary Eunice tell him this, too, was a good thing? That now he'd crushed a woman - a human - twice?

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _White flag never going up, never going up, no, no_

 _Oh, won't wave my white flag, no_

 _(Wave my white flag)_

 _This time I won't let go_

 _(Won't let go)_

 _I'd rather die_

 _Than give up the fight, give up the fight_

 _Give up the fight, give up the fight_

In the din between songs, he remembered how he'd remembered Jude in that fateful bath. How he'd wondered at her fate. The fate of Betty Drake. How blindly, furiously he'd prayed for forgiveness. How it had been her name on his lips as the razor ripped him open. How the blood had gushed like his sorrow and it still hadn't been enough. Not Saint Jude - though, yes, he'd been a lost cause - but just Jude he'd prayed to.

 _There's a fire starting in my heart_

 _Reaching a fever pitch, it's bringing me out the dark_

 _Finally I can see you crystal clear_

 _Go 'head and sell me out and I'll lay your shit bare_

 _See how I leave with every piece of you_

 _Don't underestimate the things that I will do_

 _There's a fire starting in my heart_

 _Reaching a fever pitch_

 _And it's bringing me out the dark_

And now, in a crowded bar in Limbo, his patron saint stalked to his table, microphone a weapon, and suddenly she was on her knees on his table, singing him the song of his contrition. He didn't hide the tears on his face, but she didn't seem moved by them.

 _The scars of your love remind me of us_

 _They keep me thinking that we almost had it all_

 _The scars of your love, they leave me breathless_

 _I can't help feeling_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it, to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

Her backup singers - her army - synced so perfectly, staring at him in accusation. It was as if every eye in the bar was on his shameful face. Let them stare then. Jude stood on the table - stood - so high above him she could look down as if from Heaven.

 _Baby, I have no story to be told_

 _But I've heard one on you_

 _And I'm gonna make your head burn_

 _Think of me in the depths of your despair_

 _Make a home down there_

 _As mine sure won't be shared_

But even in her hatred, her righteous and furious anger, she was a goddess. The legs of Ozymandias alone in the desert standing. And he looked upon his works in despair.

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _The scars of your love remind me of us_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _They keep me thinking that we almost had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _The scars of your love, they leave me breathless_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _I can't help feeling_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it, to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _But you played it, with a beating_

It was true, after all. He'd used her very love, her very worship of him, against her. Every manipulation, every glorious empty promise. He'd left her to the dirty work and then discarded her when he had his first sting of manipulation himself. He hadn't deserved her, then. He didn't deserve her now. He never would.

 _Throw your soul through every open door (woah)_

 _Count your blessings to find what you look for (woah)_

 _Turn my sorrow into treasured gold (woah)_

 _You'll pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow (woah)_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _It all, it all, it all_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _And you played it to the beat_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

Back on her knees, she bent close to his face. In any other world, it was an invitation to a kiss. In this one, it was a burning threat. She took his hand in hers and placed it on her chest. She was sticky with sweat. He could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the reverberation of her voice impossibly deep in her throat.

 _We could have had it all_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _Rolling in the deep_

 _(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)_

 _You had my heart inside of your hand_

 _(You're gonna wish you never had met me)_

 _But you played it_

 _You played it_

 _You played it_

 _You played it to the beat._

On the song's final beat, she swirled from his table so quickly his hand was left lingering where her heart had been. She snatched the bottle of bourbon with her. And she was gone.

There would be no encore tonight. The band broke into a cacophanous swing and he was spurred. Standing, he saw the slightest glimpse of golden blonde disappearing stage left and followed, pushed through dancers with determined force. Down a dark set of steps he found himself in a dim hallway. A door slammed and he darted toward it. Grabbed by his collar by a firm hand.

"She warned you."

He whirled. "Valerie."

"Don't do it. You don't want to see her. Trust me."

"I must see her." His nose ran. He hadn't quite managed to control his tears and knew he was a damned mess.

"What the fuck is your story?" Valerie demanded. "Why the fuck are you here, man? Judy's fragile. The last fucking thing she needs is some ass from the past coming to -"

"I'm well aware what I did to her in the past." Firmly, but kindly, he took Valerie's hand from his chest. "You are not, Valerie. I assure you what I shared with Jude has haunted me as much as it has her. But if I miss this opportunity - to fix my astronomical fuck-up - I'm doomed in this place and so is she." Valerie searched his face, torn. "You care for her. You are her best friend. I respect that. I respect her. I only ask for the same respect in return and that you allow me to see her now. If she were to murder me, if you were to help her dispose of my mutilated corpse in the half light of dawn, it would be not only deserved but worth it for me to have this moment with her right now."

Val's brows rose. She weighed his words and found them worthy. "Fine." She stepped past him, pausing at a door at the end of the hall. "But remember this: I _do_ have a shovel in my trunk. And I will use it." He nodded. She held a hand toward him, gesturing for him to wait, and knocked at the door "Judy."

"Get him the fuck outta here, Val."

"Let me in, Judy. Please."

"Just you?"

Val's jaw worked. "Of course, just me, you salty twat."

The door opened. Val disappeared inside. Timothy leaned against the wall near the door. Prayers for strength. Minutes passed that felt like hours. He heard nothing. When the door opened, he straightened. Val's face betrayed nothing. Stone. "Ten minutes," she said. "And I'll be back. With the shovel. Just in case." She gestured him inside.

He didn't see Jude when he a dressing room. A desk strewn with cosmetics. Tattered couch. A rack of dresses. He heard water running in the adjoining bathroom and swallowed heavily. There was no door on the en suite. A light flickered inside. She stepped out glaring. "Jude."

"Betty." She said. Her voice was a rasp. From the singing, the emotion, the bare pain on her beautiful face. "Isn't that what you named me? After you erased Jude from the face of God's earth?"

"Jude, please…"

"Now _that_ I like the sound of." To be half dressed as she was, still in that damned slip, she was intimidating as Hell. "Please. I'd like to hear more pleas from you. Monsignor." A rueful, hateful laugh. "I certainly pled. Prayed. For what?" Rage bled in. She manhandled the bourbon bottle, shakily pouring a drink. "I can't fucking believe you." She turned away from him, but he could see her reflection in the dressing mirror. He couldn't separate sadness from anger. "What the fuck are you doing here? Huh? Dragging all my skeletons out of my closet? Didn't you do enough damage in life? Was there some part of me you fargot to destroy?"

"Jude. I was sent here -"

"Sent here?" Now she turned, eyes slits on him. She pointed at him, bourbon sloshing. "You shoulda been sent to hell, _Cardinal_ Howard." She spat the address.

"I do not disagree with you."

"Don't fucking patronize me, you fake pious piece of shit!" She was in his face in two long strides. "I could send you there right now. With my bare goddamn hands." But her eyes were so wet, threatening to flood over.

"I cannot begin to atone for what I did to you."

"Yar damn right!"

"But my punishment - my only chance - is to try, Jude."

"Yar only chance at what?" She asked. "Do dead cardinals get second chances at Heaven? Some kinda...Vatican loophole nobody told me about?"

"I don't know what awaits me after...this place." He watched her drop exhausted into the chair before the dresser. "But...Mary Eunice says -"

"Mary Eunice." She looked up and he saw the first flicker, the first hint of recognizable light in her eyes. "Oh, Mary Eunice…" The tears spilled in earnest. He longed to touch her, to hold her, comfort her. But that would be certain doom. She pressed the glass to her face to cool. "Tell me she fared better than we did."

"She most certainly did."

An aching smile. "Good." But it was short lived and her hate resurfaced. "I left that all behind, you know. You. Briarcliff. All that fucking pain. I wanted to farget and I did." She drained the bourbon, winced. "And now you. Goddamn you. Showing up here and -"

"Jude." He took the chance. Knelt before her. On his knees was where he needed to be. "What do you want in this place? What are you seeking here?"

"I had what I sought!" She shouted at him now, didn't attempt to control. "I was Judy Martin again! This! Strong and singing and living as I chose! Drinking as I pleased. Doing as I pleased. Fucking who I pleased -"

"This is a dismal empty life, Jude!" He raised his own voice, willing to fight fire with fire. "You can barely afford to eat! You offered me your body on the front seat of -"

"I offered you more than my body once!" Raising his voice had been a mistake. She raised hers higher. "I offered you my fucking soul, Timothy Howard! My faith! I woulda followed you anywhere, done anything you asked. I sacrificed more of my dignity for you in service to the church than I've sacrificed to any man in service on my back!"

"And I used you as they do!" He acknowledged, heat in his face, his neck. Throat thick with impotent tears. "I took advantage, Jude! I used you worse than they do! I lied! I manipulated! I _did_ destroy you! I know what I did! Don't think for a moment that I forgot as you chose to do!" Frantic, he ripped at his cuffs, bared his arms to her. "It was _you_ I prayed to as I bled. No saints. No gods. No virgins." He laughed ironically, couldn't resist the sudden insane bubble. "You have haunted me as no other ever could."

She stared at his arms. Tears still falling. Hesitantly, he reached toward her face. "Jude. I was a broken man who broke a woman that I…" The words hurt. They were there but they wouldn't come. He forced them. "A woman that I may have loved."

It was her turn to laugh. Empty, sardonic. "You only loved yarself."

"I saw that too late, Jude."

"Too late." She murmured. "So what now? I forgive you and a flock of angels fly down to lift you up to Heaven? Nevah gonna happen."

"I'm here because I need you." Simple enough to admit.

"Need me? Oh, that's rich. Need me far what? More dirty work? More lies I can tell? More cover-ups? Somebody else who's murder you wanna pin on me?"

"No murders, Jude."

"Maybe yars."

He ignored that. "No lies. Only truths now. I'm here for you."

"I don't need ya."

"I've noticed."

"Get up."

"Listen to me."

"I've listened to you. Now get up. Ten minutes is up."

He grasped the arms of her chair, trapping her. "One last thing."

She looked down at his hands near her hips, holding her captive. "Gonna kiss me again?" His face burned and she chuckled darkly. "Christ if I'd remembered earlier...I woulda slit yar throat in that car."

"Jude."

"But ya enjoyed touching me, didn't ya?" Her leg shifted, slipped up his side. His nostrils flared. He could smell her sweat. "Why didn't ya fuck me? Ya could have. I wouldn't have known ya from Adam. Coulda satisfied all that old sinful curiosity." At his surprised look, she nodded. "I had a hunch."

"Let me prove myself." He dropped his hands, freeing her. Gently shifted her leg from his side. "Let me show you my feelings for you, Jude."

She cupped his jaw. "Yar love?"

"Yes."

The cupping hand suddenly shoved his face away. He stumbled backward and she stood over him. Again. "Yar not capable of that." She flung her door open. "And it doesn't exist anyway. Val!"

He heard footsteps down the hallway. Unsteadily rose to his feet. Valerie appeared in the door, looking a little sympathetic. "See Tim out, Val. We're done here."

"Come on." Val took his sleeve. The door slammed without a second glance from Jude. "I take it that didn't go so well?" He shook his head. Val lead him out a side door into an alley near some overflowing garbage cans. A dim light hung over them, accentuating his mood. "Look, Tim." Valerie sighed. "I - I respect ya. What you said in the hall back there. I get it. You made mistakes and you wanna make 'em right. Yeah?"

"I love her." He leaned against the building. He'd said it aloud.

Val whistled lowly. "I always heard nobody can hurt you more than someone who loves you."

"That's very true."

"But Judy...she's capable of hurting you as much as you hurt her, it seems." She shrugged. "So maybe that means something?"

"No." He surrendered to the inevitable. "She is truly done with me. I honestly have no idea…" He couldn't even finish the statement. Val couldn't understand the true depth of this colossal failure.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. "I thank you, Valerie. For your assistance this evening. And for your…" He didn't know what. Gestured emptily. He started toward his car. It was late and he was exhausted.

"Hey, Tim?" He turned. "Where um...where ya stayin'? At a hotel or something?"

"I have a house," he answered. "On the corner of Maine and…" What street was it? "Cooper."

"A house?" She raised her brows. "You were pretty committed, weren't ya?"

"I was." He started back to the car. "Now completely so."

He drove recklessly back to the little house. Slammed his door. Shoved his keys onto the hook. He wanted to break something. Needed to. "Now what?" He asked the ceiling. "Now what have my actions caused? What accomplishment is this? She saw through me then, and she doesn't believe me now!" He sat on the couch. "I can't do this, Mary Eunice. Not alone. Help me." His tears squeezed through his fingers as he clutched his face. "Hell would be better than stuck here forever, watching her hate me. Watching her…" But Mary Eunice did not appear this time. He curled on the couch and wept until he slept.


	3. Nancy and the Leggy Guest

**Short playlist for this chapter: Maps - The Yeah Yeah Yeahs**

He wouldn't have awakened so early were it not for a banging on the door. He blinked, eyes swollen and throat sore. _Who could this be?_

He could see her through the screen door. Opened it hesitantly. "Valerie."

"Hey, Tim." She wore jeans and a men's oxford under a thick suede coat. "Sorry for stopping by unannounced like this."

"No, it's -" He opened the screen, gestured her inside. "It's fine. Just...surprising." He wondered what could have brought this guest. If Jude was alright. Valerie didn't seem particularly harried or concerned, so he reigned in his own worry.

"I bet." She chuckled, looking around. "Cute place."

"Thank you." He remembered manners. "Would you like coffee? Juice? Or -"

"Coffee would be great, Tim. Thanks." Hands in pockets, she meandered to his table.

He rifled through cabinets, finding everything he needed for coffee. Set the percolator on the stove to boil. "Um...cream?"

"Nah. Just black."

"Me, too." He nodded. Awkward.

She was studying him closely. "Rough night, huh?"

"It was dreadful."

Val looked down. "I feel for ya, Tim. I mean...I feel for Judy, too, but…" She tisked. "Damn. You're both pretty fucked up, aren't you?"

He couldn't contain a sad smile. "Yes. I suppose we are."

"She didn't tell me anything, really." Val continued. "Just that you two had a past relationship, basically. You deserted her. She said that she had put you behind her somehow."

"It seems she did."

"I think it's kinda sweet that you came all this way ta find her and all that. Settled down in a house and everything. I even told her so."

He removed the percolator from the stove, pouring into two mugs. "I'm certain she was moved." He sat across from Val.

"Thanks." She cupped the hot mug. "Tim...Judy's a mess. I mean, she's always been - I dunno - messy, I guess. But this last week she's really lost it." HIs forehead creased. "I know what she tells me. That she hates your guts. That you're a piece of shit. Cowardly and lyin' like a dog and -"

"Yes, we've established I was a train wreck of a soul."

Val smirked. "Point is - there's more to Judy than meets the eyes. Always has been. Yeah, I get she's a little in the bottle, but not all the time. She likes the fellas, but not the right ones. And let's face it - anybody'd climb those legs like a jungle gym, right?" He blushed. "But she's deep, man. She feels shit like...way more than most people. I guess that's why she drinks sometimes. To ignore all the pain. Yeah?"

"Yes." His head hurt.

Val cleared her throat. "I um...I came here to see if you might could help Judy out."

"She does not want my help. She's made that quite clear." He plucked a hair from his coffee - his own.

"But would ya? Like if she allowed it, would ya help her?"

"I would do anything for her." And he hadn't known it, not really. Not until he said it. But as soon as he said it he knew it was true: He would do anything for Jude.

Val sighed. "So look. Here's the situation. Fuckin' Moseley kicked her out of the Blue Moon."

"She was paid through last night!" Timothy defended. "And certainly Mr. Hathaway paid her -"

"Tim." Val was shaking her head. "You really are a sweet guy. Moseley is a real piece of shit. He's been after Judy's tail since she got in that place. Even cheated her out of a couple nights she rightly paid for. It didn't matter last night that she had the money. It wasn't money he wanted."

"That's simply...illegal. And disgusting." Timothy was flabbergasted.

Val shrugged. "It fuckin' happens. Judy has a...reputation. Kinda." She reached suddenly for his hand, wanting to reassure him. "But you listen. Half what you hear is bullshit wishful thinking from spurned pups, right? I know Judy. She don't get around like folks make out she does. And sometimes these assholes just...try ta take what ain't offered. Ya get me?"

"I do." HIs stomach churned. "Where is she now? If Moseley wouldn't let her stay there…"

"She's back at Hathaway's. Just fer now."

"What about you?"

"Oh, no no no." A low whistle. "My gal - Missy - she'd murder me if I brought Judy in the house. Then she just might murder Judy." A chuckle. "She thinks Judy's a regular Jezebel. Doesn't even like me workin' door on nights she sings at the club."

"I see." He raised his hands. "I doubt she would concede to staying here with me. Ever. Under any circumstances."

"She might not have a choice."

"Other motels?"

"10 or 15 miles outta town, sure. Getting a ride to work would be hell." Valerie sighed. "Judy's already talkin' about findin' some John ta take her in." She firmly tapped his table. "The Hell I'll let that shit happen. Last time some jackass took her home she called me from a gas station bleeding from her face." She closed her eyes. "That motherfucker…"

"I hope you called the police."

The smile was evil. "We handle shit a little differently when it's one of our own, Tim. Suffice it to say, that's one dick-swinger who'll never rape or beat another woman." She leaned toward him. "I trust you. Hell, even Hathaway trusts you. And that's saying a lot."

"Jude doesn't trust me."

"Make her trust you, then." Val insisted. "Christ, don't be such a negative Nancy! Ya want me ta start calling you Nancy, Tim?"

"No!"

"Is that your real name? Nancy?"

"My name is _not_ Nancy," he emphasized.

"Then quit acting like it is!" Val snapped, laughing. She sobered and leveled with him. "Look. Hathaway's a great guy. Like an old man ta me. And he loves Judy like a daughter, too. She makes him a lot of money. But she can't stay at the club. She'll drink the bar down if she gets in the dumps bad enough. So. I'm gonna talk to her. She's gotta realize there's someone out here who wants ta help her and can."

"I wish you the best of luck." He toasted her with his coffee mug.

Val studied him for a moment. "So what was she to ya, Tim? Your bird?" He winced a bit. "Were ya married to somebody else or somethin'? Did ya cheat on her? Whatever ya did, it musta been epic."

It was such a long story. So much to tell. And really, what good would it be to regurgitate it to Valerie? He paraphrased. "Jude - Judy - was...in love with me, I suppose. And I knew it. We...worked together. Were quite good together, actually. A good team."

"Where'd ya work?"

"Briarcliff. The asylum?"

"Holy shit, for real? Judy never told me she worked in the nut hut. What'd ya do there?"

"She...directed the institution. And I was her boss."

"Judy was a director?" Val grinned. "That's crazy. I thought a buncha nuns ran that place. The church owns it, right?"

"Judy was a nun. When I knew her. And I was a priest."

"Woah." Val set aside her coffee. She raised her hands, placed fingers at temples. "Hold up a sec. Judy...was a nun."

"I knew her as Sister Jude."

"This is all just fucking crazy ta me, Tim." She rubbed her eyes. "Judy was a nun. Jesus Christ. And you were a priest, so...even if she was in love with you, it's not like you two coulda...you know."

"Yes, I know. But I did know that she harbored feelings for me. And I used those feelings to...manipulate her. I used her. I was a very different man. Ambitious. I sought power and position in the church. And I saw Jude as a tool to achieve it."

"Wow. You were a real rat bastard."

He nodded. Sighed. "I was." He wasn't certain how much more he should tell her. Wasn't certain what Val even knew of her own reality. She didn't push for further details, so he left the topic. "Now. If Judy agrees to come here, which I highly doubt she will -"

"Nancy." Val stopped him with a finger. "Get the couch ready. I'm gonna bring you a real leggy guest." She stood up. "I don't know when, but sooner rather than later. Hathaway isn't gonna lock the liquor up for long. And I'll be honest, I dunno what you'll do with her once she's here. But maybe it'd be good for you two ta...talk and stuff."

Timothy smiled tensely. "We will."

"I just know you won't hurt her. I have a feelin'."

"I won't lay a finger on her."

Valerie laughed. "Well, we'll see how long that vow holds true if Judy lets you off the hook, huh?" She nudged him none too gently. "See ya soon, Tim."

He watched through the screen as Val climbed into her truck. Watched her leave his drive, exhaust curling into the chilly morning air. A wave of relief and anticipation washed over him. He looked up to the ceiling. "Thank you," he murmured.

He took Val's advice and attempted positivity. Uncertain when ( _when - not if)_ his 'leggy guest' would arrive, he ran some errands. The coffee can emptied, he bought some bedding. A nice, bright blue. Extra sheets. A few fluffy blue towels and flannels. A soft, yellow throw blanket. Thinking of his empty cabinets, he found a set of dishes with happy a chicken print, and a few pots and pans that looked promising. He'd been using a fry pan as a sauce pan, anyway, so it was time to expand his repertoire. A red checkered table cloth for the kitchen.

He stopped at the bookstore on his way home. The proprietor - Ms. Lundt - had come to know him, and he appreciated conversing with her. Today, she had exciting news. "I got in some lovely art books, Mr. Howard! This one made me think of you for some reason."

"Thank you." He was pleased she'd thought of him. It was a kind gesture in this stultifying existence. The book was heavy, wide. Edward Hopper. He flipped through it, aghast at the detailed images. Lonely lives. Shadowed cities. Blonde women waiting for something. It couldn't have spoken to him more. "Ms. Lundt. It's wonderful. I'll have it. And I need some more poetry, as well." He'd run out. Had really come to appreciate the well-formed line of verse.

"Hmmm." The lanky lady shuffled about between the tightly arranged shelves. "How about some e.e. cummings this time?"

He wasn't familiar with the poet, as usual, but she had not steered him wrong yet. "Perfect."

The sky was overcast when he left. He bought some flowers from the little sidewalk stand. Yellow roses and red poppies. White daisies. They were bright and...perhaps Jude would like flowers. They would be just fine on the kitchen table.

The little house looked more like a home when he was done. The flowers were very inviting, even if they were displayed in an empty pickle jar. His cabinets were fuller. His heart was fuller. He filled his belly with a grilled cheese and tomato soup. Settled underneath the yellow throw on his couch. It was soft and smelled faintly of Woolworth's, an actually rather pleasant smell. The Edward Hopper book lay on his coffee table now, opened. This particular painting spoke to him. _Morning in a City._ A woman, tastefully nude, her blonde hair carefully coiffed, staring out a window for...something. He looked at it often.

Three days passed. Three days of Edward Hopper and nature programs. Single meals and solitaire. He kept negativity at bay with reading.

This poetry was wild. Captivating. The words spilled like a drink to be mopped up, placed back into some semblance of order. A mess, but a gorgeous mess. He was taken with the novelty of the arrangements and the tactility. One in particular made his happy mind go tired and his eyes weary. It made images come unbidden, and turn to dreams...

 _Lady,i will touch you with my mind._

 _Touch you and touch and touch_

 _until you give_

 _me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene_

 _(lady i will_

 _touch you with my mind.)Touch_

 _you,that is all,_

 _lightly and you utterly will become_

 _with infinite ease_

 _the poem which i do not write._

In the dream, Jude lay upon his bed. His bed here in the little house. She smiled. Her hair was a fan of flax around her head, coiling around her fingers, arms raised in lackadaisical surrender. The slip was white in his dream. The color of purity. A stark, glistening contrast to the blue of his bedspread. She wore nothing beneath it. He knew this because touching her - exploring her - he had gently, slowly, _achingly_ slowly eased it up, up over her hips with just his fingertips. Her skin was soft and supple, goosepimpled easily. That exciting fur, her bitten lip, the catch of her breath and stickiness clinging. Her belly fluttered when his touch reached it and further up the slip slipped until he bared breasts, such beautiful breasts. The nipples felt like dates to his tongue; his lips wrapped the pebbled skin and he thrilled at the way they knotted. He touched them, too. He touched her and touched her and touched her so gently until electrically she invited him and he slipped the way the slip had into her thighs and up and into her and his brain, his mind refused to calculate the equation for the pleasure. And -

Banging.

Not in the dream - though his mind initially attempted to incorporate it with provocative results - but at his door. He blinked, shook order back into his head, and rose stiffly from the couch where he'd drifted that night. It was early. Sunlight was still grey.

"Hey, Nancy! Wakey wakey! Eggs and bakey! It's Val." Yes, he knew it was Val. He opened the door and saw her grinning through the screen. "Look at you. Bright eyed and bushy tailed." She wore a workman's coat, hair askew as if she'd just awakened as well.

"Good morning, Val." His voice cracked on the first words of the day. The first words in several days, really. Val shifted on the step, a cautious gleam in her eye, and behind her he saw - "Jude." His heart was in his throat.

She looked rather worse for wear. Her hair, usually gleaming, was a bit stringy, perhaps dirty. There was no makeup on her face (welcome, actually), and her eyes were puffy, red. She looked as though she'd been crying...for days. She wore a plain green blouse and a long skirt, held her purse before her, eyes downcast.

Timothy stepped aside. "Come in."

Val opened the screen, entering. "Thanks. Got coffee?"

"I will momentarily."

Val looked back, seeing Judy wasn't following, and grabbed the blonde's arm. "Come on, sister." Jude scowled at her friend, nearly stumbling on the step. "You got any breakfast, Tim? Your new housemate here has eaten nothing but bar peanuts and pretzels for four days."

"God!" Was that true? She _did_ seem rather weak, a little paler than he was used to. "I'll make some omelettes."

"Aw, yer a treasure, Tim." Val hung her coat on the rack by the door. "Feels nice in here. I like what you've done with the place."

"Ah. Thank you." He was rifling through his refrigerator. Started the percolator. Anything to keep busy - to avoid the awkwardness of Jude's avoidance of awkwardness.

"Oh, hey I brought ya some firewood. Split it yesterday. It's in the truck." Val sat at his table, made herself at home easily.

"That's very kind, Val. I appreciate it."

"No problem. I been clearing some land off for Ol' Ms. Lundt." Val looked at Judy, who stood beside the couch. She was staring at his coffee table. At the Edward Hopper book. At _Morning in the City_. He winced. He hadn't closed the book in days. Could only imagine what she was thinking. "Judy. Why don't ya sit down before ya fall down." Val nudged his only other chair with her foot and Timothy pulled it out, gentlemanly.

"Please." He said quietly.

Chin rising, reluctant, she sat. "Thank you." The words barely escaped on a rasp and he worried.

"Tim. Ya need more chairs." Val pointed out.

"Yes. It appears I do." He smiled, placing coffee cups before the women. Little welcoming chickens danced on the porcelain. Or at least he hoped. "I'm happy to stand for now, though." He poured. Set out the cream and sugar. Spoons.

Silence descended. Only the sounds of spoons hitting cup sides and a sizzle of butter. He dropped bread into the toaster. Folded eggs and cheese into a copper bowl. He felt Jude's eyes on him at last, but ignored the stare. He'd gotten better at flipping the fluffy eggs. Still not perfect, but at least they weren't destroyed. He set the first omelette before Jude and her head bowed over it. Was she praying? Val stood on no such ceremony and dug in. "Damn, Tim. You can cook, man!"

"I'm learning." He admitted. He leaned against the counter to eat his omelette. It _was_ quite good. He sopped his plate with toast, watched his guests do the same. And Jude _was_ starved, perhaps. She ate almost ravenously.

"What d'you think, Judy? You can cook a fair piece, too." Val poked Jude's leg with her foot.

Jude nodded. "Ya did a good job."

The quiet, saddening praise meant more than anything. He swallowed heavily. "Thank you." He refilled their coffees and for the first time, Jude spoke unbidden.

"I…" She had to clear her throat. "I thank you far...taking me in. I promise I won't be here long. Just need ta...get back on my feet." She sounded so tired. So resigned. A far, heartbreaking cry from the Amazon who'd terrified him a few nights earlier. He found he preferred her strong and fiery over this downtrodden waif.

"You are no burden at all, Jude." He wanted to touch her somehow, but didn't. "Take your time here with me."

Val gestured to the couch with its pillow and throw. "Looks like Tim already has a bed made for ya, Judy."

"No!" He spoke quickly. "I sleep there. Jude - Judy, I prepared a room for you."

Val met his eyes over Jude's still lowered head. "Really, Tim? That's damn ni-"

"I won't take yar bed." Jude interrupted. "Couches and I get on good."

"Well. Unfortunately, I already prefer my couch." He gave no room for argument. "And we shan't both fit there. So, the bed is yours." Although imagining them fitting on the couch together created an odd warmth in his belly. She kept quiet other than a whispered 'thank you.'

Val cleared her throat. "Judy, I'm gonna grab yer stuff outta the truck. And if Tim will help, we'll get that wood unloaded onto the back porch?"

"Of course."

They left Jude seated at the table. Outside, the air was crisp. He wished he'd grabbed his jacket. "She seems...unwell." He said at the pickup.

"She's swallowin' her pride, Tim. And that's a mouthful. Not to mention she hasnt had a proper bed, bath or meal in days now."

"I hate seeing her this way."

"Well, I guess it's up ta you ta do somethin' about it." She carried in two suitcases and a hatbox. Timothy grabbed two other small boxes. Was this all Jude owned? Inside, Jude was at the sink, washing dishes.

"Leave those." Timothy insisted, stepping toward her.

She held out a sudsy hand, stopping him at arm's length. "Lemme do this. Please." Her head bent over the soapy water.

He stepped back. Her unhappiness was contagious. He grabbed his jacket and went back outside with Val. "I hardly know what to do." He confessed quietly.

"Give her time." Val began neatly stacking firewood against the railing of his tiny back porch. He handed the cords up to her, some already split. "It sucks to be a woman with no choices. Especially when you've always made yer own way somehow."

"I don't want her to feel that way."

"So don't make her feel that way."

"She's washing my dishes."

Val shrugged. "She'll feel the need ta earn her keep. Let her do what she feels like she needs ta do." Val paused stacking. "Look at me." He did. "She's just...an open wound right now. And only part of that is yer fault. Yeah?" He nodded. "And she knows that, too. She's gotta come ta terms with a lot of shit. If she wants yer help, help her. If she doesn't, just hold her hair when she pukes. Get me?"

He was slightly horrified. "I get you."

The wood stack was even now with the railing. They started on the other side. "Tim. Try not to let her drink. She's detoxed fer now. Why she looks like shit. But...it doesn't take much to relapse. Even I know that."

"You do?"

Val shrugged. "Yeah. I was a total sot fer a couple years. My gal pulled me out of the bottle."

"How?" He handed her the last cord.

"She was patient. She was firm. She kept me distracted. She loved me." A sigh. "Judy...Judy isn't as hard as she seems. I know you know that, right? She's hungry fer love. Real love. So was I. It's easy ta be fucked, Tim. But it's hard ta be loved. Love means...openin' yerself up. All the soft parts of yerself. It means it's easier ta get hurt."

He nodded, understanding entirely. "Val. You're very wise."

"School of hard knocks." She gestured to his house with her head. "Like that one in there." She chewed her lip for a moment. "She's grateful. It's a weird place ta be. Grateful and resentful."

"We...we shall deal with that as it arises."

"Yeah." Val nudged his elbow. "Have you ever met two people and thought, 'Man. Those two people are meant to be togetha?'"

"Not really."

"Well. Me either. But I think you and Judy...I think you two are meant to be togetha somehow."

He blushed. "Somehow."

Val stood up. "I'm gonna be off. Say bye to Judy." She swatted his head affectionately with a glove. "You gonna be okay?"

He nodded. "We'll be fine."

"Judy knows my numbah. What's yars?" She produced a ballpoint pen, clicking, jotting the digits he gave on her hand. "Call me if you need anything. She'll do the same."

"Thank you, Valerie." She gave him a wink, entering his house from the back porch. Timothy sat on the step for a while longer. Thinking. Giving the women some time. Giving Jude some time. But it wasn't enough time. When the chill got to be too much for him and he went inside, he walked in on a tight, clinging embrace, Jude weeping softly against Val's shoulder. He started to back out again, but Val gestured for him to come closer.

"Judy." She rubbed Jude's back. "Yar gonna be fine. You know that. Tim's gonna be good to ya." She gestured for him to come even closer, face frustrated over Jude's shoulder. He stepped as close as he dared. "Look, here." Val pulled away from Jude, held her at arms' length. "If ya still want hugs, ya got somebody right there who I feel pretty sure would hold ya tight."

He'd held Jude once. Once. Kind of. He'd pulled her away from the farmboy - from the devil. Brief as it was he remembered later being struck by the feel of her body in his arms. Jude was firm, shapely. She'd felt substantial. And her loose blonde hair had tickled against his face. He would gladly hold her again. He would lift her if she fell. He had made her fall, after all…

But she gathered herself, pulling from Val's hands. She wiped at her face with her hands, and Timothy offered her the warm, clean handkerchief from his pocket. After only a moment's hesitation, she took it. Val gave him an encouraging look as Jude wiped her eyes. "Judy. I'll see ya Thursday if not before, eh. Pick ya up for work." Jude nodded, gathering her wits. "Tim. I'll see you Thursday, too."

He saw Val out, closing the door behind her and turning slowly to Jude. He'd no idea what to say. And she looked so resigned and miserable, he hesitated to attempt any small talk. "I've put your things in the bedroom." He gestured. "You can make yourself at home. There are several empty drawers in the chest. Room in the closet. Um…" He tried to think of any other pertinent things to tell her.

"Timothy."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't have come here if I'd had any other choice."

And that stung a bit. "I understand." His throat tightened.

"But I truly appreciate yar kindness."

"Of course, Jude." He whispered.

"And I won't apologize." She continued firmly if shaking. "For what I said the othah night. I'm still angry. Beyond angry at you. And I think I have a right to that." He nodded, acknowledging she was right, letting her have her say. She suddenly looked away, biting a lip, scoffed softly. "But ya know? My mothah told me once - when I was just a girl - that God doesn't always answer our prayers the way we expect him to. And I'll confess I been prayin' lately. Prayin' hard."

He knew the feeling. "What have you been praying for?"

She looked at him directly for the first time since she arrived. "Far a way to forgive you. A way to let go. Like I did before." Tears escaped her eyes. He hadn't even realized she was crying. Peculiar. "Because I'll nevah be happy this way. Not now that I remembah. And this is all I'll have far eternity."

"We don't know that that's true." His fingers itched to touch her. To take her arms, stroke tears off her sculpted cheeks.

She shrugged. "I chose to come back here, ya know? Because I didn't want to be alone. I was nevah any good at being alone. And now...I feel more alone than evah."

"But you're not alone, Jude." He spread his arms helplessly. "I'm here. However you may need or...want me. Forgiven or not. Val's here. And she cares very deeply for you."

She shook her head, turning away. "That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" He followed her a few paces behind. Couldn't see her face to gauge an emotion.

She stared out a front window, back to him, holding herself. "Did you mean what you said Saturday? That...you may have loved me?"

"Yes." He answered quickly. "Jude…" How to explain? What words wrapped around feelings like theirs? The depths of regret, love, and desperation? He struggled for words.

She seemed to understand. Embraced herself tightly and rubbed at her shoulders. "This is too much right now."

"There's time."

"Oh, yeah!" She laughed ruefully. "Fuckin' tons of it." When she finally glanced back at him, she wore a smirk. "Can I use yar bathtub?"

"Yes." Apparently, their discussion was tabled. "I...got some new towels."

"Did ya?"

"I did."

She looked past him, to the kitchen. "And um...a tablecloth?"

"That, too." It seemed so silly, talking to her this way. Towels and tablecloths. But she was keen to leave the heaviness behind and honestly - so was he.

In fact, she took a proper look around for the first time since arriving. "It looks really nice." A shy smile. "You made it real homey."

"I wanted you to feel...welcome."

"Am I?"

"Very much, Jude."

Her shoulders relaxed. She tried a less shy smile. "Thank you. Again."

He shook off the thanks. Gestured for her to follow. "The bath is this way." Awkwardly. "Not that you wouldn't have found it." Flipped the light in the bedroom. "Not exactly a mystery mansion." Flipped the light in the bathroom. "I've put the linens on this rack in the corner and -"

"Did you know?"

"Hm?" He paused to find her still standing in the bedroom. "Know what?"

"Blue." She stroked the bedding. "It's my favorite color."

"Lucky guess." But he could have burst with the simple pleasure of pleasing her somehow. She slipped past him into the small bathroom. It was the closest she'd been to him yet. He clenched his fists to resist stroking her arm.

"It's a nice place, Timothy."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. In the stark bathroom lighting he could see the deep circles beneath her eyes - the brown in them muted. "I'll leave you to…" He gestured to the tub. "If you need anything…"

She chuckled, a brow raised. "Like...my back washed?"

He was sure the hot embarrassed flush was amusing on him. "I meant -"

"I know what you meant." She leaned against the porcelain sink. "I'll call you."

"Right." He closed the bedroom door behind him, giving her two walls of privacy. Or giving himself two barriers to temptation. He wasn't sure. In the living room, he was possessed to compulsively tidy. Closed and stacked books on the coffee table. Folded his blanket. A quick sweep of the bark chips by the wood stove.

He heard the shower running. Absolutely did not imagine a naked woman beneath it. Instead, he opened the refrigerator and stared inside it at the cream. No idea why. After the shower, the water ran for a bath. He didn't imagine her in bubbles, either. "God help me," he muttered.

It was growing chilly. He stepped onto the back porch for wood even though there were a few logs inside. There could always be more. He arranged it by the stove. Started a fire in the iron belly. He was blowing at the flame when he heard it through the thin wall: Jude singing.

Humming at first. A low key. Then words barely murmured. A slow, odd melody.

 _Pack up_

 _I'm strayed_

 _Enough_

 _Oh say say say_

 _Oh say say say_

 _Wait_

 _They don't love you like I love you_

 _Wait_

 _They don't love you like I love you_

 _Maps_

 _Wait, they don't love you like I love you_

He eased against the wall. Wanted to be closer to her voice somehow. Closed his eyes as the song echoed in the watery bathroom acoustic.

 _Made off_

 _Don't stray_

 _My kind's your kind_

 _I'll stay the same_

 _Pack up_

 _Don't stray_

 _Oh say say say_

 _Oh say say say_

He heard the tinkle of water between lyrics. Occasional humming. Light splashes. He could have curled up inside her song and slept.

 _Wait, they don't love you like I love you_

 _Wait, they don't love you like I love you_

 _Maps_

 _Wait, they don't love you like I love you_

The noisy racket of water draining snapped him from his reverie. He rose guiltily, despite the fact she would never know he listened to her bathe. Well. Listened to her sing.

It was still several minutes before she emerged from the bedroom. Timothy had fretted himself onto the couch, watching a documentary on Bengal tigers. She sat beside him easily, an entire couch cushion between them. He didn't look at her, but he smelled her. A waft of clean, floral coolness, and the air of relief that came with it. She wore white: a soft lnen skirt and loose tank. He could see a thin bra strap peeking on taut shoulder.

"What's this?" She asked.

Ahem. "Bengal tigers."

"Interesting." Suddenly, there were toes near his thigh. Near, but not touching. She'd folded her legs underneath her.

A glance told him she was watching the television, so he allowed a glance at the toes. They were polished with a clear varnish. Her feet were shapely. And they were very much attached to legs he already knew to be entirely diabolical. He looked away.

"That's a pretty big cat."

"Agreed." He nodded. "Sad that it's endangered."

"Mm-hm."

He chewed at his lip. Finally looked over at her. She'd washed her hair. It was golden again and shining. Curls still wet were tight. He wanted to tug one. See if it would bounce back to its coily form. She caught him staring. "How was your shower?"

She blinked. "Nice. Good water pressure."

"Ah."

"You hungry?"

He blinked. "I could eat. It's lunch time."

She looked into his kitchen. "Can I use yar stove?"

"Yes." He followed her into the kitchen. "Can I help?"

"I dunno. Can you?" She was looking inside his refrigerator. "What do you want to - Oh my God! Timothy, you will never eat all this food!"

He peeked over her shoulder. Not in charge of his own refrigerator, he could only imagine someone above had seen fit to fill it. "Oh, is that paté ?"

Jude whipped toward him. "Do you even know what's in your own refrigerator?"

"Not always."

Eyes wide, she blew at wet bangs. "Unbelievable."

But he reached past her and retrieved the tray of paté . And if there was paté , there would be crackers. Two steps and he found a box in the cupboard above the sink. "Hm?" He gestured to her with the tray, offering. She shrugged.

They sat at the little table eating paté . Watching a documentary program on Bengal tigers. Occasionally sipping slightly bitter tea. Barefoot together. The fire crackled. Crackers crunched and crumbled. A pleasantly accented Englishman lulled their consciousnesses with talk of tigers on television.

When the paté was gone, and the nature program was over, the silence became a presence. A third party. Timothy picked at a rough cuticle. Jude watched his fingers move against one another from across the table. Finally, she spoke.

"What do you do here?"

He blinked at her. "I read. Watch television. I've been learning to cook and to um...dance."

She stared at him disbelievingly. "That's it? You don't work? I mean, I know it's Limbo, but...ya still have rent, right?"

"I do not." He put his chin on his hand. "I suppose my work has been to find you."

"Ta save me."

"I don't think you need saving." He shook his head. "I think you have a strength like no one I"ve ever known. I think I'm here to save my own damned soul. But I think we can find some sort of peace together."

Jude squinted, sussing lies. "The only piece men evah want from me is enough to damn any soul."

"Not this time."

"Then why not before? In Briarcliff? Why didn't ya save me then, Cardinal?" She rose from the table. He watched her retrieve cigarettes from her purse by the door. "Hm?" She leaned against his couch, waiting, brow high.

"I was a different person, then, Jude."

"Ya look the same ta me." She exhaled a thick plume of smoke.

"Looks can be deceiving." He pushed a saucer to the edge of the table - a makeshift ashtray.

"I can't argue that." She acknowledged. "Habits hide lots of secrets."

"That they do." He gestured to her smoke. "May I?" She shrugged, tossed him the pack of Luckies, then the Zippo. The flame lit truths. "None of us were what we appeared at Briarcliff, were we?"

"Not true." She shook her head. "I think most of our charges were exactly what they seemed. Kit was. Lana." A wry chuckle. "Eunice."

"Hardly Eunice." He argued. "I was initially blind to her possession."

"Eunice was exactly what she seemed." Jude's insistence was firm. "She was an innocent. And then she was a devil. Out of her control. _You_ -" she pointed at him - "were a lie in a white collar. From beginning to end. And you knew about Arthur Arden. Hans Gruper. You knew about his history. His experiments. You knew -"

"And you, Jude?" He interrupted her. Good that this should come to a head. Good that they should get this out. "Were you not a lie, yourself? Did you not lie to me?"

She was aghast, responded yelling. "I _omitted_ certain facts from you. Because I _worshiped_ you! I stupidly _believed_ in you!" When she whirled to pace, her skirt flared. "I foolishly _fell in love with you_ , Fathah."

"Stop calling me that."

"Then stop calling me Jude!" She snapped back. "You made me Betty, after all. You made me another lie."

"And I've admitted that! Have regretted that!" His voice rose to match hers. Not quite shouting. "I did terrible things, _Judy_." He stressed the name. "Yes, I lied. Yes, I was a dreadful man. That's why I'm here. But there has to be forgiveness somewhere. We have to let go of the demons that haunt us."

"Demons." Jude scoffed, circling the couch like a trapped animal. "Demons don't haunt me. _Storms_ haunt me. I can't sleep far thundah. Lightning makes me cry like a fucking child. Cold chills me to my bones. I _hate_ the feel of wet stone. Can't be in small spaces. Being alone makes me crazy - anxious as a cat in a room full of rockin' chairs." She leaned on the table, into his space. "Do you know how long I was in solitary? Do ya realize how long you left me down there ta rot?"

He closed his eyes. "Too long."

" _Months_ , Timothy Howard!" She slapped the enamel, making him flinch. "Like I was no bettah than an animal! Ya let the devil fry my brain, let me be offered up to Leigh Emerson like a Christmas pudding! D'you know what he did ta me?"

"No!" He stood, leaning into her space now. "I had no idea, Jude! I was in the devil's control, myself! A demon's tool. A demon's...toy!" He spat. Looked away, embarrassed. "I was powerless, too. In many ways."

"Bullshit!"

"I came to _you_!" HIs throat hurt now, tight with tears. "It was _your_ counsel I sought when I knew the truth. The truth about Emerson. The truth about Frank. When Eunice -"

"You mean when you gave the devil yar virginity?" She smirked sickly.

"It wasn't like that." A growl. His gut still knotted to think of it…

"Why don't ya tell me what it _was_ like, Timothy?" She sat now. Lit another cigarette. "I always wondered what you'd be like in bed. Or were you even in bed? Did ya sigh sweetly? Whisper yar token resistance into her ear while you wrapped her creamy legs around yar -"

"It was _rape_ , Jude!" The table shook when he leapt from it. "She climbed atop me and made me hers. Eyes black as sin. I could not fight her! I could not resist! That was _not_ Eunice and you are well aware of that. It was a demon and as much as it pains me I confess that it took me against my will. Made me powerless." He shook.

"Well, welcome to the Rape Sucks Club." Jude sat back in her chair, settling. Seemed almost pleased that he'd suffered.

He rubbed frustrated at his head, stomach churning at their confrontation. "It's a devastating feeling. I am sorry you are also a victim, Judy."

Her mouth worked. She flicked the cigarette. "It happens. Especially in my line of work."

"Did Emerson -"

"No." She shut down that line of questioning quickly. "He tried, though." Her eyes drifted closed, remembering. "He beat me. Threw me on the bed. Climbed on top of me. And I stabbed him with a letter opener." She smiled ruefully. "Wish I'd killed the motherfuckah."

Timothy sat. Put his hands flat on the table - a gesture of peace. "I regret beyond words that I did not believe you, Judy. That I did not hear your words."

"Frank was my _friend_." She suddenly insisted. "I would have _mourned_ him. I would _nevah_ have hurt him. Much less killed him." Tears choked her. "I loved Frank. He treated me kindly always. Respected me. He woulda protected me that night. Woulda saved me. That's why Eunice killed him. Why the devil took him."

"I know."

"I woulda mourned her, too." Anger exhausted. Tears streaked her face freely. She wiped at them with her thumbs. "Mary Eunice. My - my little sistah." Emotion - avoided for so long - was sloppy. Dirty. Jude could care less, sniffled and wept weakly. "You know...she used to come to my chambers. During the storms. The N'oreastahs. She would - would tap on my door. I always knew it was her. She was so scared! So sweet! She would sleep with me. Like a fucking girl. So unconditional was her faith…" Her head fell in her hands. "She feared me! I wish I'd been kinder. Wish I'd been -"

"Jude." He stopped her. "Eunice cared deeply for you. She still does. She is the reason I'm here now. She has been my guide in this...place."

"I wanna see her." She suddenly grabbed his hand. "Will I see her?" Desperation pinched her red eyes.

"I hope so." She was still gripping his hand. He took it in both of his. Could feel her sticky tears. "Eunice was a forgiving soul. She was good. The best part of Briarcliff. And that is why it was so unbelievable. Why it was so easy to overlook her plight. The demon knew how to choose."

Jude nodded, chewing her top lip. "That's why it didn't take me. Or you. I've often wished it had. Spared her soul." She shrugged. "Hell, I already knew the devil, anyway." She slid her hand from his, rubbed at the fingers self-consciously.

"I've wished the same."

"I coulda fought it harder." She nodded certainly.

"Or...been a far greater force to reckon with." He smiled wryly, attempting some humor even if dark.

She gestured at him with her cigarette, appreciating his attempt. "Either way, you woulda been fucked."

He laughed, relieved at the break in their exchange, at the slightly lightened mood. But he sobered quickly. He owed her the truth. "She...she wore your slip."

Jude's features froze for a moment. Time froze save for the swirl of smoke above her head. Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"It was red. Silk. You wore it at the club a few -"

"How did you know about that?"

"It was in your things. In a box. She must have taken it."

Jude looked away from him, a hot flush on her features. "I used ta wear it whenevah…"

"Whenever what?"

Her gaze slid back to him like oil. "If I knew I was going to be with you." A shrug. No more secrets. "Cooking for ya. Meetings. Chapel."

"Beneath your habit."

"I told ya habits hide secrets."

He took a deep breath. "Quite a secret, Judy."

"It must have known. Like it knew othah things about me." She thought, rolling her now defunct cigarette between two fingers, forehead creased. "But I wonder why -"

"I imagined you in it." He blurted. Looked into his empty tea glass.

She was quiet at the admission, considering. Mouth slightly open. When she spoke, she spoke slowly and deliberately. "You said that you destroyed a woman you might have loved. Was it love, Timothy? Because it was awfully easy far you ta abandon me the way ya did."

"I didn't know then. I couldn't understand." How to put this into words now that words were being put? He struggled, holding his temples. "I loved God. I loved myself. You were a Sister of the Church. My sister in faith. I called my love for you holy."

"Was it?"

"No." His face burned. He covered it with his hands. "Christ, Jude it was…"

"Lust?" She asked.

She'd supplied the word. He still couldn't meet her eyes. "At best."

She shook her head. "I knew there was something," she murmured. "But I knew it wasn't the same as I felt. I knew it was -"

"It was safe to want you. To...imagine having you that way. Because of our positions in the church." After this confession, he looked at her.

She'd crossed her pretty legs. Tilted toward him, but not too close. "Interesting, Timothy. What other...positions...did you imagine for us?"

"Don't be cruel," he muttered.

"You have to understand my resentment."

"I understand completely, Jude. But this is not the way for us to proceed. Anger is a barrier to our development."

She laughed openly. "What development?"

"I want your forgiveness! I want your happiness, woman!" He stood again, restless. Pacing. "I deserve your anger, Judy. But I deserve the chance to redeem myself, do I not? As you did? Can you tell me you were blameless in life in the eyes of God? That you did not harbor your own dark secrets? Your own lust?"

"God's eyes mean less and less to me lately." She was unswayed by his anxiety. Watched him with an unsettling gaze. "I took advantage of the hell you gave me in Briarcliff. I paid my fucking dues. I was rewarded. But whether that was God's doing or...just simple human kindness…" She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Eunice said you had a lovely ending. What did she mean?"

The small smile was a real smile. Not laced with ire or sarcasm. "Kit Walker took me out of there. For whatever completely insane, misguided reason, he took a crazy woman into his home. With his children - one of which you would have taken from him, by the way - and gave me something I never had in my entire dismal life."

"What was that?"

"Love." She spread her hands. "Just...simple, joyous, perfectly sweet love. A family. Babies ta hug. A peaceful place to die, and a hand to hold while it happened."

"I'm glad you had that." He was. Deeply. Relieved that she hadn't wasted away at his hands, after all. "Do you still want love, Jude?"

She stared at him, measuring. "Do you?"

"Yes. And peace. And happiness. The simple things you spoke of."

"Love takes time, Timothy."

"Time is all we have."

"Not true." A smirk. She tapped the empty plate. "There's also paté."

He blinked a few times before laughing. Nerves releasing tension, he sat again. More than content to leave this conversation...for the moment. "Thank God for paté."


	4. Seams

_**Band of Gold - Freda Payne; Leather and Lace - Stevie Nicks and Don Henley**_

 _ **Poems in this chapter are by Anne Sexton and e.e. cummings.**_

 **Seams**

Jude felt the need to clean his refrigerator. Bothered by the amount of possible waste, she crafted a large pot of soup. Set it to cooking that afternoon. For the duration of the day, they were quiet. Their earlier conflagration had been more than enough to dull their tongues. In fact it had quite exhausted Timothy. He found himself dozing on the couch while a documentary about flamingos provided some distraction.

Loud screeching - flamingo mating cries - woke him suddenly. He blinked, and caught Jude staring at him quite openly. It seemed she had been for some time. "Sorry," he murmured. "I don't usually -"

"Yar as handsome as you always were."

He swallowed. Neither smiled. "I have not changed, I believe."

"Hm." Her stare didn't falter.

"You have changed." He said quietly. She raised a brow. "Perhaps I simply took it for granted but...I think you are more beautiful now than I can recall."

She shrugged, finally looking back to the television. "Guess death becomes me." He looked back to the program, as well. "Does anything come on yar TV that doesn't involve exotic animals?" Jude asked.

"I don't think so." He scowled. "But I haven't actually changed the channel."

"Oh."

Her hair had dried naturally into a thick mane. She brushed it while flamingos paraded. Plaited the strands into loose braids which she tucked into each other somehow. To Timothy, her hair manipulations were far more fascinating than the flamingos. He wondered how she tolerated his staring, then remembered how many men ogled her on a nightly basis.

"Mind if I pick through yar books?"

"Not at all." She rifled in the stack on the coffee table. "Mostly poetry, I'm afraid."

"It's been a long time since I read poetry." She settled on the Anne Sexton. He gestured for the e.e. Cummings, and they read in contented silence.

Until: "Listen to this." Jude cleared her throat and read.

"Come, my beloved,

consider the lilies.

We are of little faith.

We talk too much.

Put your mouthful of words away

and come with me to watch

the lilies open in such a field,

growing there like yachts,

slowly steering their petals

without nurses or clocks.

Let us consider the view:

a house where white clouds

decorate the muddy halls.

Oh, put away your good words

and your bad words. Spit out

your words like stones!

Come here! Come here!

Come eat my pleasant fruits."

She chuckled, turning the page. "Eat my pleasant fruits," she repeated.

He smiled. "I've got even better." He read.

"the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls  
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds  
(also, with the church's protestant blessings  
daughters, unscented shapeless spirited)  
they believe in Christ and Longfellow,both dead,  
are invariably interested in so many things-  
at the present writing one still finds  
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?  
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy  
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D  
...the Cambridge ladies do not care,above  
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of  
sky lavender and cornerless, the  
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy

"Goddamn angry candy." She shook her head sadly. "Timothy."

"Yes, Judy?"

"Yar gonna have to get some different reading material."

He nodded. "Tomorrow." An outing, then. With Judy. He was cautiously hopeful.

They ate Jude's soup. It was delicious, comforting. Over dinner, they chatted quietly. Not of their past. This, they avoided. Timothy broke off a piece of French loaf and dipped it in his soup. "How did you and Valerie become such close friends?"

Jude shrugged. "When I came ta work for Hathaway, she was workin' the door. She just kinda took ta me, I guess. She could tell I was a mess. Really took care of me."

"She is quite protective."

"You noticed." Jude grinned. "That's my fault, though. I got myself into a couple scrapes here and there and she...helped me out. But I think now she worries too much."

"She um...she told me about what happened with Moseley."

"Oh." Jude blushed a little. " _That_ was _not_ my fault, I assure you."

"No, I suspect not." His lip curled a little. "What an arsehole."

"I'm gonna keep a tally of yar curses from now on."

"It's important to have goals."

She chuckled, pushing a carrot around in her bowl. "You um...gonna come to the club Thursday?"

He considered. "If...you would like me to."

She considered, as well. "I think I would."

"Planning to musically emasculate me again?"

"I hardly emasculated you."

"You were quite vehement."

"You were already emasculated."

"Fair enough." He sighed. "I don't wish to intrude. After all, it is your work. I suppose I don't want anyone to have the wrong impression."

The expression on her face bordered on bristled. "What impression is that, exactly?"

"That you have a...an...a man who…" He really struggled. "That I am a - or that is to say _your -_ "

"Boyfriend?" Her brow quirked.

He rolled his eyes. "That's a rather provincial term."

"It's a _rather provincial_ profession I'm in." She mocked him. "Why wouldn't you want them to think something like that?" Her chin rested on her hand and she gazed expectantly at him. "Would you be embarrassed?"

"Certainly not." He found her challenging. Couldn't say he enjoyed the challenge, but he didn't hate it, either. "I imagine quite a bit of your success as a singer stems from the fact your audience imagines you...available."

"Ah!" She pointed at him. "So you think having a boyfriend would make me unavailable?"

He tried not to seem aghast. "There are boundaries in relationships among people that should be respected by outside parties."

She could not contain a burst of laughter. "You think the rowdy, horny masses are gonna tip me less if they think my boyfriend is at the bar?"

"They should!"

"Timothy. This is Limbo. Those souls had no respect befar death, so why should they have any after it? I'm just some bimbo with tits and hips to them."

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

"You happen to have very nice legs, as well."

She was entirely taken aback by his sudden, disarming humor. Despite his delivery being straight-faced. "Yar funny sometimes, you know that?"

"I have my moments." He spread his hands. "Jude. Honestly. I love to hear you sing. You've a powerful, tremendous voice. And yes, your stage presence is intoxicating. If _you_ are not discomforted by my presence, then yes, I would like to come back to Hathaway's and see our set."

Her lips pursed. "Yeah, maybe not yet."

He threw up his hands. "Then why did you -"

"I just wanted to hear you say I had a nice voice!"

A deep groan. "I suspect you can be quite an infuriating woman at times."

"No. Just furious." She grinned. "D'ya really think I have nice legs?" He pushed away from the table, collected their bowls, refusing to let her rile him. "I mean...you were pretty keen to feel 'em in the car that night, so -"

"I was in an altered state." He began washing the dishes.

"Of course you were."

"And so were you."

She was quiet for a while, watching him clean. Lit a cigarette and leaned back in her chair. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I kinda wish you hadn't stopped that night."

Slowly, he dried his hands, contemplating her statement. "I'm not certain where we would be at this point if I'd…" He leaned on the back of his chair, facing her. "I want more than that, Jude. For both of us."

"Right." She turned away to exhale a thick plume of smoke. "Peace, forgiveness and love."

"Exactly."

She shrugged. Smirked. "Fucking's easier." When he pushed away from his chair, frustrated, she held back a laugh.

He ran a hand through his hair. "I'd like to prove to you - and to myself, Jude - that I have the capacity to be a better man."

"I always wanted you." She confessed. "I told ya that before. And you admitted that those thoughts went both ways. So if you were such a goddamn deviant at Briarcliff, why didn't ya just take me then?"

"Because it was more than that, Jude!" He snapped. Regretted snapping. Sighed. "It's difficult to explain."

"Try."

"I'd never had sex. It was...a concept to me. Did I...feel arousal? Yes. Did I know what to do with it? No. What I did understand - fully - was power." He sat, at terms with yet another reckoning. "You made me feel powerful. The way you looked at me, spoke to me. The worship I saw in your eyes… It was addictive. And intoxicating." He shrugged. "I suppose in some way I translated it...to sexual fantasy. I imagined -" But he stopped abruptly. Not keen on revealing certain aspects of his former psyche.

He should have known Jude would not let him off so easily. She leaned toward him with relish. "What did you imagine, Timothy?"

"It's not important."

"Oh, I find it very important. And captivating." She tisked. "Tell ya what. I'll go first, shall I?"

He blinked. "You mean -"

"I always liked imagining you as this sort of...novice. Ta sex. Which I suppose wasn't far from reality. And that you would be so curious. And so sweet." A rueful laugh. "It was always this culmination of genuine love, ya know? In my little bed or on the dinner table or...on my desk. Yar desk. Wherevah. It was just...tender. Passionate. _Forbidden_. Which I think was a big part of the attraction."

A hot flush crept up his neck. One of arousal at her words, but more of shame at his past. "I'm sorry, Jude."

"Because it wouldn't evah have been that way, would it?" She asked softly, sadly. She knew his answer by his pained expression. "Don't suppose you were a novice in yar imaginings, were ya?"

"No, Jude," he confessed in a whisper.

"Were ya sweet ta me?"

He swallowed thickly. "Not particularly."

"Was I on top at least? Once or twice?"

"No." He shook his head and closed his eyes. "I controlled you. You obeyed me."

"And if I didn't obey you?"

"That never happened."

"I see." His eyes opened when she rose. He watched her fetch her cigarettes. "You know what really hurts about this?" He accepted the cigarette she offered, listened to her. "I was _so_ fucking far gone then...that I woulda let ya control me. I _did_ obey you, Timothy. To my own detriment. Christ, when I imagine what I woulda done far you, it's worse than anything I actually did far you." She shook her head, laughing bitterly.

"You were a better person than me."

"No, I don't think that's true," she argued. "I just think our foibles...were fine foils far each other." She took a long, shuddering breath. "I have ta acknowledge...that _you_ were a victim, too. In many ways. You were manipulated, too. You were lied to. The devil had his way with you, too." She considered. "And I'm sorry far all that." She tamped out her cigarette early.

"There was a significant difference between us, Jude: You sought to vanquish the devil, while in many ways - I was in league with him."

She smirked. "I guess we both got to know the fucker pretty well, huh?"

"We did." He conceded.

"I'm tired." Her sudden announcement was accompanied by a yawn.

"You should go to bed." He wondered how long this would go on - the constant revelations. The bare-laying of damaged souls. The search for redemption, for commonality between them. Because it was ultimately exhausting.

"Timothy. I really don't mind sleeping on the couch at all. I've -"

"Jude. Take the bed." He insisted finality, stretching. His neck popped when he rose. "I'm going to change. Then…" A gesture. "It's all yours."

She fluffed his pillow while he was in the bathroom. He emerged in pajamas to find his couch bed beefed up with blankets. Jude had put away the soup. Stood in the bedroom door. "I'll see ya in the morning."

He nodded, leaning against the couch. "We'll have an outing."

"Sounds nice." The house was dim, now - conducive to softer truths. "Timothy?"

"Yes?"

The doorframe made her small somehow. Or perhaps it was the way she stood with her arms crossed, one bare foot scratching at the other. "Did ya ever think of us in Rome?"

His nostrils flared. "I did."

She bit her lip. "What were those dreams like?"

"Sordid." He hated to admit.

"Hm." She retreated into the bedroom's darkness. "That's funny. So were mine." The door closed like the period on the end of her sentence and he might have tasted tears in his throat.

He fell asleep that night watching a program about elephants. And woke to an awkward morning. He had to pee. Badly. But the bedroom door was closed and he imagined Jude was still asleep. He hesitated to sneak in and wake her. Considered taking his business onto the porch or the back deck, but...neighbors. There was always the kitchen sink…

He was seriously debating the debasement of organizing kitchen sink urination when the bedroom door opened. He sprang up on the couch to see Jude standing over him. "Oh. You're awake," she murmured. "Good morning."

"Yes. Morning." He darted into the bathroom, hissed at the freezing tile.

She was making coffee when he emerged, teeth no longer floating. "You shoulda just come in there." She shrugged. "I'm a pretty heavy sleeper. Plus, it's not like I was butt naked or anything." And he _really_ wished she wouldn't say things like that. "Besides, I shoulda left that door open far the stove heat. It felt like a goddamn meat locker in there when I woke up. You coulda cut glass with my nipples, I swear ta Christ." She looked back at him, a sizing glance. "Sit down. I'm making breakfast. Eggs?"

He could only imagine what he was seeing - experiencing - was the purest form of Judy. Hair rumpled from restless sleep. A thick cotton robe cinched tightly over who knew what. Eyes still a little drowsy. Morning moody Judy. With nipples that could cut glass. "Eggs sound delightful." She grunted in response, poured two coffees from his percolator. She was an expert egg flipper. And her bacon was crispy.

But she was _not_ a morning person. These were things he would have to learn the hard way.

"Did you sleep well?"

She grunted in response. A half shrug. "Too quiet. I'm not used to it."

"Ah." He found her grumpiness almost amusing. Pushed his luck. "Perhaps...we could install another small stereo for you."

Her gaze was withering. "Or I could just get the fuck used to it." He nodded conciliatorily. She cleared her throat, attempting some semblance of humanity. "But uh...how did you sleep?"

"I couldn't." He took the honest route. "I watched a program on elephants."

"Oh. Well." She considered a moment, then gave her own honesty. "Yeah. I really didn't sleep, either. Shoulda joined you and the elephants."

"You are welcome to do so anytime." He sipped his coffee, hiding a smirk. "Seeing that you will not be...butt naked."

Her gape said he'd surprised her again. But her eyes narrowed. "You wish."

"Perhaps." At her sigh, he changed the subject. "Also perhaps we should arrange an extra heater today. For your room."

She shook her head. "Not necessary. I think leaving the door open will benefit us both. In case you need - you know - "

"The loo."

She snickered. "Yeah. The loo."

They finished breakfast companionably. "Are you still game for an outing this morning?"

"Sounds good. I need some things."

"Excellent. I'll shower?"

She waved him toward the bedroom. "I'll try to control my baser desires ta join ya."

He really _really_ wished she wouldn't say things like that.

He dressed in the bathroom and when he emerged, he found Jude sitting on the edge of the bed, fishtail skirt hiked high over one thigh. She was snapping a black garter onto a nude stocking. Met his stare challengingly when she finished. "Ready?"

"Um…"

She brushed past him, heels clicking, to primp her hair before the bathroom mirror. "Ya need a bigger mirror. I can't tell if my seams are straight."

"Seams?" He felt like his were unraveling.

"Yeah. Are they?" Satisfied with her coif, she turned, extending a lean leg.

"Ah." Seams. His eyes followed the thick silk cord up the back of each calf. Ahem. "Yes, they seem straight."

"Thanks." Briskly, she brushed past him again. "Okay. Let's go."

His groin ached.

It was cold and still out. They could see their breath. And in the downtown buildings, the wind picked up briskly. At Pimm's - the furniture store - he acquired two more chairs. Because...he had friends now. And a full length mirror. Because...he had seams now. Deliveries arranged, they made way to the bookstore. His favorite shop.

Mrs. Lundt seemed both pleased and surprised to see him arrive with a guest. Her smile was wide and bright. And when Jude was browsing, the proprietor shuffled over. "Why, Timothy!" She whispered. "What a lovely lady you've brought in today."

He blushed. "Yes, indeed."

"Is she your...sister? Or…"

"Somewhat." He faltered. "No. She is my...friend. Staying with me for a while."

"Ohhhhh." Her 'oh' was far too suggestive. "I see." She winked. "You'll find no judgment here, son. I was starting to think you were a poof."

He blushed even harder. "No!"

"No what?" Jude slipped up out of nowhere.

"Nothing." Timothy and Mrs. Lundt spoke in tandem. He took in the books in Jude's hands. "You found something interesting."

"A couple things." Jude smirked. "There's another art book back there with some more naked blondes in it far ya."

"I think we're done here." He said pointedly to Mrs. Lundt.

In Woolworth's he addressed the issue of her teasing. "You're tormenting me."

"Me?" She asked so innocently, perusing spooled thread. "I don't know what yar talkin' about."

"Seams, Jude? Naked blondes? I feel as if you are purposefully antagonizing me."

"You like it." She passed him a few spools of thread. "Hold these. I need a thimble." She began digging through a box.

His forehead creased in thought. He _did_ rather like it. Her teasing. It was certainly an improvement on her hatred. And there was something quite promising in the tease...some flirtation.

Thimble found, she took her thread back and his elbow. "Come on. Let's get a soda." There was a fountain soda in the department store. A low red formica counter greeted them and Jude ordered two root beer floats. "Sit down." She patted the stool beside her. When he sat, a kitten heel brushed his pant leg. "Listen," she said. "I can't be formal, Timothy. I'm past that. And so are you. We've made it pretty clear what our intentions are, so we can be ourselves, right?"

Floats appeared. He watched her immediately dip a finger into the whipped cream. The violet dress brought out the deep brown of her eyes. "Have we?"

"Have we what?" Her finger wasn't enough. She attacked the whipped cream from above, dallying with her straw.

"Have we made our intentions clear?" He reached for her face, flicked a spot of cream from beside her mouth and licked his finger.

"You've been pretty clear." She seemed unfazed by the grazing contact. "You need me ta fargive ya far being a total asshat. You want peace and love and…" She shrugged. "I don't know after that."

"And you?"

"I told you. I'm trying to fargive you."

He nodded. "Fair enough."

"Timothy?"

"Hm?" The float was delicious.

"What _do_ you want?" She asked quietly. "I mean...you saying you loved me once… That doesn't mean much in the present, does it?"

He could almost imagine a confessional lattice between them. A penetrable wall she'd erected. He looked through the cracks. "I would like to love you again. I would like you to let me."

Her lips worked. "And then what? Stuck up each others' asses far all eternity in Purgatory? Or...do we move on? Part ways?"

"I don't know." He was honest. "Mary Eunice hasn't been exactly clear on that point."

"I'd love to see her."

"I know. But...she's quite unpredictable,"

A soft laugh. "Not like the Eunice I used ta know."

"No." He smiled. "Nothing like that Eunice." He cleared his throat. "So. We have two new chairs. Shall we invite Val and Missy to dinner?"

"I've nevah once sat at the same table with Missy. That would be a historic event."

"Val has been a friend to me. I appreciate her."

Jude stared at him. "I nevah would have imagined the old Timothy Howard embracing a lesbian bouncer as a friend."

"I'm not the old Timothy Howard."

She squinted now. "I'm starting ta see that."

His float was nearly gone. The conversation was warming. He felt comfortable enough to tease her back...a little. "Was there _really_ another book of naked blondes at Lundt's?"

Her sudden laughter was rich and loud.

They were home in time for their furniture delivery. Installed the mirror in the bedroom and the chairs around the little table. Timothy called the number Val had left for him. She answered briskly. "Yeah?"

"Valerie."

"Nancy? Is that you?" He rolled his eyes. "How's things?"

"Things are quite fine. Jude and I [Jude peered over the edge of her book at him] wanted to invite you and Missy for dinner this evening."

"You musta got you some new chairs."

He blinked, unsettled by his own predictability. "I...I did, actually."

Valerie laughed heartily on the line. "Tim...how's Judy doin?"

He looked at Jude. She lay on the recliner upside down - bare feet at the head and curly head on the footrest. Her stockings - seams still straight - reflected the soft lighting. "She's...fine."

"Lemme talk to her."

"Jude." He gestured with the phone.

She sighed heavily, swinging from her repose to sway into the kitchen. "Hey, Val." He busied himself in the refrigerator, picking ingredients, hearing her one-sided conversation. "Uh-huh...no. No!...Val... _NO_...well, not yet...I'm readin'...yeah, we watch TV some... _No_ , not porn! Christ, Val...just some mendin'...I dunno. Hold on. Timothy!"

"Hm?" He turned from the stove.

"What's far dinner?"

He looked at the spread before him. "Pork loin, I think. And vegetables. And perhaps macaroni and cheese?"

"Oh, hell that sounds good," she murmured. Then into the phone: "Salty pig meat. You comin'? Uh-huh...well, it'll be interesting. Of course I'll be on my best behavior! Timothy's here ta slap me around." He scowled at her. "Yeah, bye." She replaced the receiver. "They're coming."

"Wonderful." He coughed. "Jude. I would never slap you around."

She came to stand by the stove. "I dunno. We might enjoy the rough stuff." He nearly sliced his finger with a paring knife."Need some help?"

"I would enjoy your help." He handed her a box of pasta, decided music would be enjoyable. Might distract her from making him miserable. "Can you turn on the stereo?"

Jude smirked, leaning into his ear. "Timothy. I can turn anything on."

He had no doubt that was true.

The first few medleys were bluesy. Jude swayed at the stove and Timothy pointedly avoided watching her hips move. More or less. They grated cheese together and rubbed down a pork loin. Cut carrots and mushrooms. They'd started the roast in its Dutch oven when the music kicked up a jauntier tune.

"Oh, I love this song!" Jude sang along, no shame in her strong voice. And when the pasta was boiling, she grabbed his hand. "Dance with me."

"The roast!" But he was grinning, beyond pleased that she was pulling him into a modified swing. He managed to kick the oven door closed before falling into step.

 _Now that you're gone_

 _All that's left is a band of gold_

 _All that's left of the dreams I hold_

 _Is a band of gold_

"You've been practicing!" She smiled.

"I have." He twirled her easily. She felt ample in his grip. Warm. Firm hand keeping time on his shoulder.

"With who?" She asked coyly on an in-swing.

"With the elephants and flamingos," he replied.

 _And the memories of what love could be_

 _If you were still here with me_

 _You took me from the shelter of my mother, I had never known_

 _Or loved any other_

 _We kissed after taking vows_

 _But that night on our honeymoon_

 _We stayed in separate rooms_

A hiss from the stove and Jude slipped over to stir her pasta, barely breaking their contact. He tugged her directly back into a quickstep. "Whooo!" She laughed. And it was the prettiest sound he'd ever heard from her lips. Or possibly any lips. Or possibly ever at all.

"That's great and all. But can you cha-cha?"

"And meringue!" He assured her, easily switching up the step. "Although I'm a bit stiff."

"I bet you are." She winked, and he flushed. Again.

 _I wait in the darkness of my lonely room_

 _Filled with sadness, filled with gloom_

 _Hoping soon_

 _That you'll walk back through that door_

 _And love me like you tried before_

The upbeat tune faded into a much slower medley. A man and woman sang together, and momentary awkwardness sprung between the kitchen dancers. Timothy bowed to Jude's whim and smiled softly when she opted to keep dancing - albeit down-tempo.

 _Is love so fragile_

 _And the heart so hollow_

 _Shatter with words_

 _Impossible to follow_

He cleared his throat when she stepped further into his space. Her eyes - downcast first - turned up as if for permission to touch something less fleeting. In answer - in permission - he wrapped his arm loosely around her waist, taking her hand to lead - asking his own permission.

 _You're saying I'm fragile I try not to be_

 _I search only for something I can't see_

 _I have my own life and I am stronger_

 _Than you know_

 _But I carry this feeling_

 _When you walked into my house_

 _That you won't be walking out the door_

She hummed along. He could feel the vibration in her throat against his shoulder when her chin rested there. He dropped his other hand slowly to her waist when her arms fell on his shoulders, and it occurred to him very suddenly that he was _holding_ Jude. They swayed gently, still near the stove, still near each other. He rested his cheek against her silky hair.

 _Still I carry this feeling_

 _When you walked into my house_

 _That you won't be walking out the door_

 _Lovers forever face to face_

 _My city your mountains_

 _Stay with me stay_

 _I need you to love me_

 _I need you today_

 _Give to me your leather_

 _Take from me my lace_

Timothy had picked up on the melody and joined her in humming. He found he liked this song. Not certain if it was the song itself, or the moment it engendered that he found so appealing.

 _You in the moonlight_

 _With your sleepy eyes_

 _Could you ever love a man like me_

 _And you were right_

 _When I walked into your house_

 _I knew I'd never want to leave_

 _Sometimes I'm a strong man_

 _Sometimes cold and scared_

 _And sometimes I cry_

 _But that time I saw you_

 _I knew with you to light my nights_

 _Somehow I'd get by_

They knew the chorus now. And he surprised himself by softly singing along with her. She was surprised, too - he could tell by the upturn of her eyes. The lilting, lovely smile when she pulled back to look at him.

 _Lovers forever face to face_

 _My city your mountains_

 _Stay with me stay_

 _I need you to love me_

 _I need you today_

 _Give to me your leather_

 _Take from me my lace_

"Whaddaya know?" She asked quietly.

"What do I know?" He replied. Her warm breath was so close he felt it on his lips.

"You've got a nice voice."

"Not really." He'd not loosened his hold on her waist. "It just sounds nice because of yours."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." Her breath was even warmer. Even closer.

"Will it?" He whispered. And now she was so close. Or he was closer. Either way, their lips were quite close together. Her arms had not left his shoulders. The fingers laced together behind his neck. She didn't seem contrary to the idea of kissing, and he would possibly die if he didn't feel her lips on his for at least a second. If a second was all she would allow, he would live inside it for decades.

So he stilled. She stilled with him. Her chin tilted up and his tilted down and he could see every lash amplified as her eyes fluttered closed over dilated pupils and he uncertainly parted his lips the way hers were parted, allowed his own eyes to drift closed because honestly he wasn't able to keep them open any longer. In fact his entire body went lax in her loose embrace, as if to surrender to her power, the magnetic force that drew their lips to that most delicate brushing point - to that atmospheric tickle just at the cupid's bow and the bottom of the pout and -

Banging.

The door.

A spell broke and Jude stepped away flustered, hands going to hair as if it was somehow skewed. "Jude…"

"It's Val." She peered past his shoulder, voice catching. "I'll get it." And she hurried away, leaving him standing in a mire of disappointment.

"Nancy!" Val was embracing Jude, but giving him a friendly wink. "We brought some bread and dessert!"

"Lovely!" He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. To quell the butterflies in his stomach. Smiled tightly at Val's companion - the woman standing a few stiff feet from Jude. "You must be Missy."

Val ushered the blonde forward. "Missy, this is Nan - uh - Timothy! Who I told ya about."

"Yeah." Missy's smile was guarded whereas Val's were so open. "Nice to meet you." She had a soft Southern accent. Not at all what he'd grown accustomed to hearing. And her hand was cool and dry when he shook it.

"Course you remembah Judy." Val gestured to her good friend and Timothy' watched Missy's nostrils flare just a hint.

"Yeah. Of course I remember Judy." An even tighter smile for Jude. There were no hands offered between them.

"It's nice ta see ya again, Missy." Jude tried a pleasantry.

"You, too." Missy tried a pleasantry, too.

"Here, Judy." Val handed over a wrapped casserole dish. "A cobbler. And where do ya want this bread?"

Timothy seated Missy and Val at the table with a beer each. Turned the music down to a background murmur. He bustled about with Jude for a moment, setting their places and checking the mac n' cheese. The roast was nearly done now, so they served up a salad while they waited.

"You musta been workin' pretty hard on this dinner." Val gestured to Timothy and Jude. "Ya both look nice and pink over there."

"Gets hot in here, yeah."

"Rather warm work, indeed." They spoke together, looking at each other guiltily. Touching their respective glasses of tea.

Missy squinted at them. "Y'all...cook together often?"

"Apparently...yes?" Timothy answered, holding a look from Jude. "Well. We do...now."

"First time far everything." Jude amended.

"Lots of firsts." Timothy furthered. There was some awkward nodding and looking about. "Ah… Missy. Where are you from?"

She recognized being recognized as an encroacher. "Kentucky, originally."

"Is the grass really blue there?" Jude asked.

"Kind of."

"Interesting."

"What brought you here?" He wanted to know. What brought any soul here? Any person? And what exactly was their awareness of it?

"Nursing school. And then I got a job at the hospital." So that was the extent of Missy's awareness...

"You enjoy your work?"

She shrugged. "I like helping people and it pays the bills. Guess I can't ask for more."

Val locked eyes with Timothy. She was clearly containing a world of amusement at the moment. "Tim. Where are you from?"

"Ah. Leeds, originally."

"In England?"

"Yes."

"Y'all got the Loch Ness Monster, right?" Missy asked.

"No. Unfortunately, that's um...Scotland."

"Same thing." Jude chimed.

"Nearly." He agreed.

"Only the men wear skirts there."

"Kilts." He corrected Jude with a wince.

"Same thing."

"And uh...what brought _you_ here?" Valerie was enjoying this quid pro quo. Tipped her beer toward him.

"I also came here for school," he answered honestly. "Well. Seminary. I was assigned to a brotherhood in Boston."

"Seminary!" Missy spoke up. "Like for priests?"

"Yes."

She looked at him in a suddenly very different light, then slid a knowing rather judgmental glance toward Jude. "Guess something took you away from the church, huh?"

"Not...exactly."

"He was a shitty priest." Jude dropped the statement like a Jello mold. But he didn't disagree in the slightest.

"And uh - Judy was a nun!" Valerie tossed out almost joyously.

"The fuck she was." Missy's judgmental stare refined.

"She was a shitty nun." Timothy iterated.

"Like...the shittiest," Jude agreed, nodding.

"Huh." Missy nodded. "Well, holy shit."

"We were, indeed." Jude smiled.

"I think the roast is ready!" Timothy practically leapt from his seat, slapping an oven mitt against his thigh.

"I'll check the macaroni." Jude rose, too. Their hips bumped at the stove. She glanced at him sideways. "This might be the most awkward situation you've ever put me in." She hissed.

"I'm fairly certain I've done worse." He whispered back.

"I dunno." She slid the bubbling macaroni from the oven. "That whole Nazi doctor thing might have been preferable to Missy's judgment."

"She does seem a bit judgmental."

"She can cast the first stone all she wants, Timothy." Jude leaned close to his ear, slapped a serving spoon into the macaroni. "But I guarantee you I'll cast the last one."

Timothy cast a silent prayer to the ceiling and turned to the table with roast in hand. "Dinner is served!"

Dinner also barely fit on the little table. But it was delicious, so there were no complaints. "Judy, you haven't lost yer touch in the kitchen, for sure," Val said. "Between you and Nancy here, we won't have ta worry about starvin' anytime soon."

"Thanks, Val." Jude poured herself more tea. "Why um - why do you call Timothy Nancy?"

"No reason." Timothy answered.

"Because he's so negative all the time!" Val replied honestly. "Ya know, he didn't think you were gonna agree ta come stay with him?"

"I wasn't." Jude deadpanned. "You made me."

"And look at ya now!" Val gestured. "Happy as two clams!"

Timothy pondered, looking concerned. "Are clams truly happy?"

"They're at least content." Val defended.

"Until they're in a chowder." Jude counter-defended.

"I think it's about damn time somebody made an honest woman out of our Judy." Missy drawled, brushing breadcrumbs from her slacks.

Jude's nostrils flared. "Oh, I've always been an honest woman. Just so happens most people don't wanna hear the truth."

Val put a hand on Missy's shoulder. "Judy's always been honest with me. She's free-spirited, babe."

"I bet she is." Missy sniffed. "I'm just sayin' maybe she needs...a firm hand." She smiled at Timothy. "Good to see somebody's stepped up to the plate."

"Missy!" Val looked slightly mortified.

But the damage was done. Jude was fully offended. Not that Timothy blamed her. He removed himself from any equation that might emerge. "I assure you my own hands are firm enough, Missy." Said hands currently gripped the table edge. "I'd be happy ta show ya."

"Missy. Stop this." Valerie took a calm, direct approach. "What the hell is into you?"

"Oh, please!" Missy rolled her eyes. "Are we all going to sit here and pretend that she's some wholesome ex-nun come to do good works? Or can we acknowledge the fact she's basically a whore?!"

Jude stood abruptly from the table, anger replaced by hurt. Timothy recognized the expression and stood with her. "Jude." He put his hands on her shoulders from behind, drew her close to him.

"And everyone is _still_ just going to cater to her!" Missy pointed. "Despite every 3 am phone call! Every week long bender! Every black-eyed promise broken! You know, Judy. Val always says she doesn't understand why I don't like you. It's because it took me three years to pull her outta the bottom of a bottle and now I see her throwing her life away on you - doin' the same damn thing. And for what? So you can waste it bein' manhandled by some sorry son of a bitch or another? Not good enough, sister."

"You have no idea who I am!" Jude shouted. "And maybe ya have no idea who Val is. Because I've never known a better more forgiving soul than her and she certainly deserves better than you!"

"How dare you!" Missy bumped the table as she rose. "I saved her goddamn life! I love her! I won't watch her waste so much potential on a woman who doesn't have the capacity to change!"

Jude laughed ruefully. "If you knew how much I've fucking changed…" She breathed, hard, shrugged against Timothy's hands. "And by the way I haven't had a drink in a week! A week I spent sleeping in a bar! Because I wouldn't _fuck_ the motel manager! Does that make me a shitty alcoholic whore just like I was a shitty nun? I sure hope there's _something_ in this life I'm good at!"

"Well, congratulations on your first week of trying to get your life back together." Missy spat. "Let's see if you can do it without ruining someone else's."

Despite her anger, there were tears in Jude's eyes. And Timothy honestly couldn't bear that. She'd cried enough. She trembled like a leaf, and perhaps he took advantage of a weak moment - folded her into his embrace - turning her away from her accuser. "Missy." He spoke very calmly. "While I can appreciate your unique experiences in life, I'm certain you can come to appreciate Jude's. The truth is this woman is rather precious to me, and I can't allow her to be attacked in any fashion. Valerie…"

Jude's head turned from his chest. "Collar yar bitch. And get her outta here before I muzzle her far good."

Valerie was in shock more than anything. She rose shakily, taking in Missy's defiant chin. "Babe." She touched her lover's back uncertainly. "Let's...let's go home, kay?"

Missy let herself be turned, shepherded toward the door. "Don't expect me to apologize," she muttered.

"We'll talk at home, Missy." She turned in the door, Missy hurrying down the steps. "Tim…"

"We're fine, Valerie." He assured her.

"Judy…"

"Go home, Val."

"I'll see ya tomorrow? Pick ya up fer work?"

"Tim's taking me." She didn't look at her friend. Timothy could feel her warm, thick breath on his chest. Felt like he was witnessing the end of something…

"Oh." And Val must have felt that, too. There was heartbreak on her face. She couldn't say anything else. The door closed softly behind her.

There is a quiet that follows the wake of violence. It's a shameful one. He despised it. "Jude," he murmured into the crown of her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Far what?" She asked. She shook. He could tell she was controlling tears. "You defended me. Stood up far me. Ya didn't have ta do that."

"Everything I said was true. Jude...they cannot know or understand your past. Our pasts. Speaking out of ignorance -"

"She talked like I wasn't even fuckin' there, Timothy!" She pushed away from him, resisted his embrace. "Like I was nothin'! And Val!" A chuff. "Val let her! Right here at our - at your - table! We cooked far 'em for fuck's sake!"

"I know." He tried to soothe her. "You've every right to be angry. I am, too."

She stepped away on a growl of frustration. "I just...thought she was my friend."

"I believe she is your friend. I think she was simply overwhelmed and in an awkward place."

"It doesn't mattah!" She insisted hotly. "If it was you, I woulda stood up far ya no matter what. Like you stood up far me! If somebody means something to ya, you speak up far 'em."

He nodded. "You're right." Best to agree with her. Let her cool down. Honestly, he was concerned for Valerie, too. He could tell she was in a bad place when they left. Hoped that she and Jude could weather this storm together and maintain what he saw as an important friendship.

Jude was crying softly despite her best efforts at control. He hesitated to go to her. She was doing that thing where she crossed her arms, self-soothing and blocking any contact. She paced nervously. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"What you said?" She avoided his eyes, picking at a fringe on his couch-bed blanket. "About me being precious to ya?"

"I've been nothing but honest since I've been here, Jude. I've no intentions of obfuscating now."

Her lips trembled and she hid her face behind her hands. "I've nevah been...a precious thing." She took a deep shuddering breath. "There was a time...longer ago...when some of what she said was true." She blushed brightly. "But I changed. Like people do. I'm not a whore now." A muddled shrug. "I mean...I like men. And maybe I fell far the wrong one once or twice. And maybe I tried ta-"

"Jude…" He went to her. Couldn't resist. "You are my existence in this world _now_. What you were _then_ \- and what I was then - has no bearing on what I want now." He reached slowly for her face, giving her ample time to flinch or retreat.

But she didn't. She let him caress her jaw. Leaned into the sweet touch. "Were ya really gonna kiss me?" She whispered.

He smiled. "I thought you were kissing me."

"No!" She tried to joke. Tried to volley with humor. But she was shattered. "I mean...maybe I was curious."

"If you're still curious," he suggested shyly despite himself.

She took his hand from her face, held it in her own and met his eyes. "I am. But...I think I would like to be alone for a while."

He nodded. Disappointed, but knowing. She needed to nurse her wounds as he had once. "Shall I go out for a -"

"Don't be ridiculous." She kissed perfunctorily the back of his hand before releasing it. "I'm just gonna lay down far a bit. Collect all my thoughts." Tears were threatening again. "Timothy."

"Yes, Jude."

"I really am tryin'."

"I know. I am, too."

She nodded, holding in what he knew were heavy tears, and slowly made her way to the bedroom. She closed the door softly. He could already see her beginning to shake. In her absence - in the after-commotion - he felt his body relax. He worried for Jude. For Valerie. Honestly, he worried for Missy, although at the moment he could have feasibly hit a woman - a thing he'd never imagined from himself. But Missy...she'd been so vicious. So unforgiving. And yes, Jude had given as good as she'd gotten, but he couldn't fault her in the least.

Had Missy done worse than he had? Not even close. The realization gave him pause. Suddenly there was a profound swell - a guilt abscess. His eyes grew hot with his own tears. Needing to be close to her - to the woman he'd destroyed once - he sank to the floor against the bedroom door and cried as quietly as she did. If this was meant to be rebuilding, he was proving to be a dreadful carpenter. How was he to help her when he couldn't seem to hold himself together?

"Why are we crying now?" The soft question was accompanied by soft hands on his head.

He raised his eyes from his knees. "Eunice." He wiped his face with his sleeve. "Where've you been?"

She shrugged. Sat beside him on the floor like a child. "You were doing so well, I thought I'd leave you be."

"I'm not doing well at all."

"You've had some pretty great successes."

"Now she's lost her best friend."

"Not your fault."

"She feels wretched."

"Partially your fault."

"I want to...help her, but I hardly know how to begin. I cannot erase her past. Or my own. And I feel like I'm apologizing every five minutes. Those apologies become meaningless."

She patted his thigh, comforting. "But your actions aren't meaningless. Remember? And you've definitely made progress there. She's here, isn't she?"

"Against her will."

"Jude isn't the type of woman who does anything against her will. She fights. And she could have fought harder. Some part of her wants to be here with you."

He considered. "We _did_ have a nice outing today."

"See?" She nudged him. "And you watched that program on tigers together. That was fun, right?"

"You already know everything!" He accused, hands raised in frustration. "So why do I tell you anything?"

"Hey." She pointed directly in his face. "It's a psychology thing."

"Psychology?" He scoffed. Let his head rest against the door. "I do not have a disorder, Eunice."

"Um. Wow. You don't think you were maybe a Type One Narcissist?"

"Mental illness is the fashionable explanation for sin."

Eunice did a double take, then laughed behind her hand. "Oh, God. Did you hear that from her or did she hear that from you?"

"What are you talking about?"

She sobered. "Nothing."

"Jude wants to see you. Badly."

"I know." Eunice took a deep breath. "I'm here to see her now."

"She'll be pleased."

"She'll be a wreck."

"She's already a wreck."

"She's a wreck you kiiiisssed today!" She teased him, elbowing his ribs none too gently. "Huh? Eh?"

"Owww!" He whined, pulling away from her. "Stop! Damn!" It was like having an annoying little sister. "We didn't kiss."

"Your lips touched."

"Barely."

"That's still kissing!" Now she slapped his shoulder. "What more do you want? Tongues?"His brows quirked in reply. "Oh, that's like first base stuff. And you aren't even in the ballpark yet."

"Thanks," he groused.

"Don't worry." She patted his knee. "You'll be sliding into home plate soon enough."

"Wow." He adopted her exclamation. "Phrasing!"

"Nice and smooth." She made a sliding gesture, extending her entire arm.

"That's enough."

"You're going to score big time."

"Are we _not_ doing phrasing?" He asked incredulously.

"Timothy." Laughing, she grabbed his head and kissed him soundly on the temple. "God bless ya."

"Indeed." He murmured into her bicep. But he needed her embrace. He nuzzled her like a boy. "Eunice. Help her."

A small gasp above him. "Help her? Or help you?"

"You've already helped me. Help her. Or...help me help her. Please."

She pulled back, eyes dark and light at once. "Perfect." A small smile. "Now you're on the right track." She rose, stretching. Pointed at the bedroom door. "I'm going in." He nodded, slid to the wall. "I'll see you later...probably after your first uh...ballgame." He groaned. "We'll call it a scrimmage!" She decided brightly. "You know. For phrasing." A pat on his head. A knock on the door. Soft.

And Jude's voice from inside, muffled: "Come in."


	5. The Fire and the Flood

_**Heating things up a bit in this rather long chapter. (Puns and foreshadowing? Yes.) In fact - just so you know - this chapter was very nearly titled 'Handjobs and Hummingbirds.' So...you're welcome. Playlist (Limbo Bimbo on Spotify): Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You - Stevie Nicks; Yellow Flicker Beat - Lorde; Angel on Fire - Halsey; Gold Dust Woman - Fleetwood Mac; Hotter than Hell - Dua Lipa; Heart of Gold - Neil Young; Fire and the Flood - Vance Joy. Poetry excerpt is from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot.**_

The room was quiet and dark and chilly. The door clicked closed like a semicolon - something still to follow. Through cracked blinds and gauzy curtains, the silvery outline of woman curves supine on the bed. Jude. "Need the loo?" She asked, voice watery. Sniffled.

The bed creaked as Eunice climbed on it, not shy at all. "Nah. Came to check on you."

At the intrusion, Jude was turning. At the voice, she was firing up to a sit. Her hands flew to the little nun's face. Even in the dark, she recognized "Eunice!" Flung arms around the fey form. "Oh, God!" Sobs wracked her. She clutched woolen habit as if she might tear it apart. "It's you!" She buried her face in a wimple, breathed through snot. "God, you still smell like you. Oh, Eunice, I need you so bad!"

"And I'm here." Eunice's arms wrapped Jude just as tightly. Even angels could be moved to tears. Two escaped her eyes despite the peaceful smile on her face. "And you still smell like you. Like gardenias." Her fingers stroked Jude's hair. She'd washed her face and put on a gown and robe. "If it wasn't so dark, I'd tell you how pretty you are."

"I look like Hell." Jude pulled back - barely - to take in Eunice's features in the moonglow. "But you're beautiful, Eunice. Like an angel."

"Well…" Eunice shrugged. "Not bragging or anything."

Jude managed a chuckle through her tears. Hiccupped behind her hand. "I'm so happy ta see ya." The hand cupped Eunice's cheek. "I missed you so much, Eunice. I missed ya at Briarcliff and I missed ya after. I feel like I sought you for the longest time."

"You did." Eunice settled back on the pillows, bringing Jude. "But you had made a decision, and I couldn't influence it. I could only wait."

"Wait far what?"

"For you to be ready! To remember all that. To remember me! Or you would have just thought I was some stupid little blonde thing come -"

"What have I said about calling yourself stupid?" Jude was suddenly vehement, whipping in Eunice's arm.

"I'm not!" The girl reassured, pleased that Jude was still...Jude. "I'm just saying you wouldn't have known me. Like Timothy out there."

"Oh." Jude settled again, content in Eunice's friendly and encompassing hug. They rested easily against one another, Jude humming happiness.

"That poor bastard." Eunice muttered.

Jude laughed. "He's havin' a rough time."

"He deserves it."

"I'm not makin' things easy."

"You shouldn't."

"But...I'm starting ta...I dunno." She sighed.

"Fall for him?"

"That's scary, Eunice. I already went down that road once, and look what it got me."

"Hm. Well." Eunice toyed with a loose curl on Jude's head. "Betty wasn't such a bad name."

Jude snorted. "What scares you exactly? Falling in love? Or forgiving him?"

"Both." Jude's fingers played with Eunice's fingers on her stomach. Lacing and unlacing. Girlish games. An innocence she missed. "Ya know what this reminds me of?"

Eunice was grinning. "The storms at Briarcliff? When I would run to your room?"

"With yar cold bare feet and climb in my bed with me?" More laughter. "Exactly. Little blocks of ice that inevitably ended up in my ass crack."

"It was so warm!" Eunice cried.

"You little shit!" Jude placed a hand on Eunice's mouth. "I miss you…"

"I'm here."

"But ya can't stay."

"No." She nuzzled Jude's temple. "You have to do most of this on your own. And...with him. And with your friends."

"I don't have any friends." Jude sat up now, wrapped her arms around her knees. "Not now."

"Because...an idiot cast some errant apersions?"

"And because Valerie believed them! Let her say that shit ta my face, Eunice! You know, I've tried hard ta be a bettah person here. And it hasn't been easy. I came here ta nothin' and nobody that knew me. I had ta build all this kingdom up, and just so easy somebody tears it down."

"Some kingdom, Jude." Eunice sat up, too. Traced delicate designs on Jude's back. "Who exactly tore it down, hm? Missy? Valerie? Or…"

"Oh, he tore it down completely." Jude chewed at her lip. "As soon as I remembered who I was, I damn well remembered who he was. And everything he'd done ta me. And I thought...I thought it'd be easier ta just die than deal with it again."

"But you're dealing with it."

"Well, I can't die, can I?"

"No. That particular modification is unavailable in this model."

"Yeah." A wry chuckle. "I guess I'm grateful far him. Far givin' me a place ta stay and all. And…"

"Aannnd you kissed him."

"We didn't kiss."

"I'm not going to argue this with you, too, Jude. Your lips touched. That counts as a kiss."

"They barely touched." Jude held up a finger, indicating how much their lips had touched. "And you just know every damn thing, don't you."

"Yep."

Jude thought a moment. "You know. He took everything from me once. I guess he should be giving back now."

"He needs to. Wants to. And it wasn't all him, Jude. You have to admit you did some damage yourself."

"I nevah claimed it was only him." Jude reminded. "It was a lotta storms that wore me down, Eunice. But they turned me ta dust."

"You're not dust." Eunice crawled onto Jude's back. "You're like...gold." She stroked Jude's shaking, smiling head. "Your soul...your spirit. Jude, that's all golden! This hair...like gold. You've so much value to so many. Why can't you see it? Why is it so hard to accept generosity? To accept love? Why are you so fucking stubborn?" She set to tickling Jude's ribs until there was squealing. Could only imagine what Timothy might be thinking outside the door.

On her back now, Jude looked up at her old friend. "I told him earlier. I've nevah been a precious thing to anyone. No one evah really...gave me anything befar. So maybe it's not in my nature." She tapped Eunice's chest. "Maybe my heart isn't as open as yars is."

"Maybe it will open in time."

"It is opening." Jude confessed. "I'm just...protecting it."

"Understandable." Eunice nodded, started fanning Jude's hair out around her head. "Hey. I know a song. Wanna hear it?"

"Yar gonna sing ta me, Eunice?" She touched the nun's nose. "I'd love that."

"Okay. Here it goes." A rather melodramatic, prolonged throat-clearing had Jude chuckling again. But Eunice's voice was - quite literally - an angel's voice.

 _Has anyone ever written anything for you_

 _In all your darkest hours_

 _Have you ever heard me sing_

 _Listen to me now_

 _You know I'd rather be alone_

 _Than be without you_

 _Don't you know_

Jude turned, curled, let her head rest in Eunice's lap. Fingers stroked and soothed her face, brushing away the tears that started.

 _Has anyone ever given anything to you_

 _In your darkest hours_

 _Did you ever give it back_

 _Well, I have_

 _I have given that to you_

 _If it's all I ever do_

 _This is your song_

Jude wrapped helpless arms around Eunice's waist. She cried. Hard. It was good to get it all out. Good to feel so loved. To have this amazing thing just for her.

 _And the rain comes down_

 _There's no pain and there's no doubt_

 _It was easy to say_

 _I believed in you everyday_

 _If not for me_

 _Then do it for the world_

Eunice's voice lowered. She leaned closer to Jude's ear, sneaked a kiss onto her temple.

 _Has anyone ever written anything for you_

 _In your darkest sorrow_

 _Did you ever hear me sing_

 _Listen to me now_

 _You know I'd rather be alone_

 _Than be without you_

 _Don't you know…_

Minutes of silence. Jude was still. Eunice thumbed away a tear from her own face, then from Jude's. "You asleep?"

"No," she whispered. "Eunice?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

"Judy, Judy, Judy…" Eunice gathered the woman into her arms. "I love you."

"I love you, too!" Jude sobbed into her neck.

"Why is it so much easier to let me love you than that man? Even if he was a stupid man once?"

"They're all stupid. Always."

"I know, but...how many of them see your worth?" She pushed Jude back to look at her. "Kit Walker saw it. He loved you. HIs children loved you. And you let them. And you were so happy. You can be happy here, too. Believe it or not."

"And after that? What?"

Eunice smiled enigmatically. "It doesn't even matter."

She blinked. Exhausted by emotion. "I can try."

"Really?" Eunice asked.

"Really."

"Good." She took Jude's cheeks in her hands, pulled her face close for a forehead kiss. "You know. He's gonna have no idea what to do with you."

"I know."

"It'll be fun." Jude nodded, sensing the end of their encounter. Her throat choked with tears again. Eunice's parting words left wet promise above her right eye. "If not for me, Jude...do it for yourself." She released Jude's cheeks. Slipped through Her loose embrace. The bed creaked, and when Jude looked up, Eunice was gone.

She sat heavily on her haunches. Stared into the dimness. It was freezing without Eunice's warmth. Sticky tears had made her face cold to touch. Not bothering to affix her hair, or her face, she tugged the robe tight around herself and padded to the door. Opened it to immediate warmth.

Looking down, she saw Timothy leaning against the wall, legs pulled up like a babe. He stared up at her, and she saw similar stickiness on his face. Swiftly, she sunk, straddled his lap. He grabbed her, and his arms felt as good as Eunice's had. "Jude…" He murmured into her hair, hands clutching the satin of her robe.

"Shhhh." She soothed him. Took his face in her hands until he looked at her. She studied him. The angles, planes and creases on his face. He'd aged. But so had she. His eyes were as pure brown as ever - just a bit lighter than her own. She searched them now, found his soul in them, barer than it had ever been. Her thumbs stroked his lips until they opened and she put her own on them.

At first, his hands flexed awkwardly against her back. So unexpected was the kiss, the affection. So intense was the moment - the moment she seemed to look into his very soul. But he'd seen in hers as well - seen the same aching, vulnerable, strong, and fierce woman he'd wasted years earlier. The fiery brown eyes he'd seen extinguished were alight now, and she was flame in his arms despite the chill in her satin dressings.

They melted together. Warmed together. His awkwardness became assuredness. His hands stroked over her shoulder blades until they held her properly. She wrapped her arms around his chest and they kissed deeply. Shifting. Breathing each other.

He memorized the structure of her back (the spine, the muscles that moved beneath his touch), the soft, firm press of her breasts against his chest, bare beneath the slick, white nightgown, the way her thighs tightened alongside his.

Kissing was quite simply blissful.

It wasn't until they broke for oxygen that he realized the tears had returned, crept down their cheeks for entirely different reasons this time. They wiped at them together, and when her head fell against his shoulder, he simply held her. Said nothing. Nothing was necessary.

Their breathing head fell back against the wall. She fell lax. He glanced down to see those lashes against her cheeks. She was asleep.

He smiled. Maneuvered his arms beneath her legs and - using the wall as leverage - stood. Carried her to the bed. He laid her there and affixed the thick duvet over her. She gave a small moan. He kissed the bridge of her nose. An odd place to kiss, but he wanted to kiss all of the places, and it seemed like a good start.

He was retreating to the couch - to his own now-peaceful rest - when she grabbed his wrist. He looked down, surprised she'd awakened. "Go to sleep," he whispered.

She tugged. "Stay." He hesitated. She scooted. "Stay," she repeated. He swallowed. Shed his slacks and socks and climbed into the bed beside her. Under the duvet, with the heat from the wood stove, with the heat from Jude's body curling against his own, he felt warmer than he'd felt in years. Jude was obviously warm, too - dead to the world in slumber.

And his eyes were heavy. Drooping. A satin arm slid across his chest. He wrapped Jude in a loose embrace, keen to let sleep take him this way. In fact, he was drifting into a lovely slumber when a leg slipped up his own, curved over it. It was smooth and soft and entirely too shapely.

His eyes snapped open in the darkness and his body betrayed his honorable thoughts, rubbed a frustrated hand over his face. "Christ, save me," he prayed. "And this woman, too." Sleep would be long in coming.

This was clearly Eunice's fault…

There was something in his mouth when he woke. It was his first awareness of the day, and it was a shank of blonde hair. His second awareness of the day was the exquisite feel of full, feminine arse cheeks cradling his morning erection. And that was easily the best part of the day.

Somehow in the night he managed to spoon himself around an arm around her waist until a hand lightly cupped a breast. It was firm and soft and round and caused an odd tightening in his jaw.

Simply too many things were oddly tight. His jaw. His boxers. His tenuous hold on control. And now begged the question: how to extricate himself from this position without waking his bed mate? He would simply slip his hand off of her breast. Quickly. So that she wouldn't feel anything amiss. Then, he would roll away. Also quickly. And hope that the bed didn't creak or -

"You awake?" Her voice was husky and sleepy. It sounded like sex. Or...what he imagined sex might sound like. Real sex. Nice sex. Not…forced demon sex.

"Yes," he the shank of hair out of his mouth.

"Sorry I'm such a...handful."

"Um…"

She chuckled. Wiggled a little bit.

"Christ! Don't do that!" He snapped, rolling quickly away from her.

She sat up and stretched, still laughing. "Been a while since I woke up with a hard-on in my ass."

Timothy rubbed his face, groaning. "I can't handle this."

"Sure ya can!" And this set her to laughing even harder. "I mean - it might take two hands, judging by the size of it, but you just -"

"Dammit, Jude." He slipped out of the bed quickly. "I'll make breakfast this morning." He closed the bathroom door behind himself.

"You handling that?" She called after him. "Or do ya need me ta come in there?"

"Don't you dare!" He heard the bed creak as she left it. He locked the bathroom door just in case. She scared the shit out of him lately. Or he scared the shit out of himself when it came to her. He wasn't sure. Either way the stubborn erection made his morning pee difficult. He sighed, leaning over the toilet, a hand braced on the wall. "Dammit…"

It was so _new_. This kind of temptation. So very different from the melodrama of fantasy - the safety of imagination. And it was true: he'd never really…'handled it.' Embarrassingly, he had no idea how to pleasure himself, much less the object of the temptation.

He turned on the shower. Cool. Stepped under the spray. It didn't help.

But his bollocks genuinely ached. It was a new unwelcome sensation. It made him feel raw somehow - ashamed. Although he _knew_ this was biology. Nature. One arm gripped the shower pipe, steadying himself. He'd been taught his entire life that what he was currently doing under a sheet of lukewarm water was a sin.

A sin that felt...incredibly good. The tension in his jaw eased. The tension everywhere eased. And every slow, exploratory stroke was blissful fire. He barely controlled a whimper. Increased the pace. Some things felt particularly good. His thumb on that seam along the bottom of his cock. The way his forefinger curled over the ridge near the head of it.

It didn't surprise him that he thought of Jude. What surprised him was the _way_ he thought of her. No more the sordid, sanguine power trips of their Briarcliff days - the breaking her, bending her, fucking her over a gilt kneeler in hallowed Vatican chapels. What brought him pleasure now was imagining the cradle of her thighs, the silken slip of her arms over his sweat-slicked back, her neck arching like a swan's, those remarkable breasts bare in his mouth, her husky voice in his ear encouraging sweetly, sighing, "Make love to me, Timothy -"

"Agh!" He nearly fell, bracing arm shaking with the impact of the pleasure. It was too quick to predict. He would have to get better at timing. And the damned mess… "Guh…" He caught his breath while he cleaned it. Rubbing his rag frantically over the pipe. The faucet. The shower curtain. "How did it get _there_?" He whispered. "Why is it so sticky?"

He felt disgusting. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Weak. Exhilerated. Excited. Inordinately pleased. Completely at ease. Ran a gamut of emotions similar to the grieving process in a matter of seconds.

Cleaned up, he combed his hair. Thoughtful in the mirror. His cheeks were pink despite the coolness of the water. He thought he looked...younger somehow. Or maybe less daunted. He cocked a brow. Yes. Less daunted. "It's fine." He said to no one.

He would _not_ pray for forgiveness. Decided - happily - he had nothing to be forgiven. He simply felt too good for all that - so much _better_. Ready to face the day. Ready to face -

"Jude!"

She was waiting right outside the door, foot tapping a little impatiently. "Who'd ya expect?" She gave him a blatant perhaps appreciative once over. He tightened the white towel around his waist. "Ya done?" She asked softly. "I need tha loo."

"I'm done."

"Didn't leave a mess, did ya?"

He flushed so hotly his eyes burned. "No!"

"Good." She brushed past him, smirking. "That sticky shit's a bitch ta clean." The bathroom door closed.

 _Now_ he prayed.

He kept his word and cooked breakfast. When she sat to the table, wet-haired and dressed in cornflower blue, he served her coffee. "Thanks," she murmured.

"Good shower?"

"Mm-hm. Bacon?"

He set the plate on the table. "And eggs. Muffins are toasting."

"Yar a good wife."

"Thank you." He chuckled. Set food and sat. Filling his plate, he cleared his throat. "That um...that color is very flattering on you."

"Yeah?" She grinned.

"Yes. It makes your eyes very brown. And um...your hair very...blonde."

"Hmmm." She nodded. "Are you trying to avoid addressing the fact that you woke up groping me this morning?"

"I wasn't groping you!" He defended hotly. "I must have shifted in my sleep."

"Oh, you definitely shifted." She was laughing good naturedly.

"You asked me to stay." He reminded.

"I did." She nodded, eating. Then, solemnly. "I'm glad you stayed." She looked at her muffin. "Much warmer that way."

"It was." He agreed. The bacon was crispy and the eggs were fluffy. They created a fine texture balance in his mouth. "And um...how was Eunice?"

Her smile, soft as it was, was bright and true. "She was wonderful."

"I'm pleased you were able to see her at last."

"Me, too." A sigh. "She knew everything."

"She seems to."

"She knew we kissed."

"Which time?"

"Oh, yeah…" Her chinks went pleasantly pink. "I fargot about that."

"Forgot?! Not that second one!" His fork hit his plate with a clang. "How could you forget that one? That one was…" He spread his hands helplessly. "That one…"

She shrugged. Snapped bacon between sharp teeth. "It was whatevah." He stared at her agape until she winked. "I mean a sort of mind-blowing whatevah."

He cuffed laughter, relieved. "I thought so."

"Don't get cocky." She pointed at him. "You could stand some more practice."

"Now?"

"No!" She smiled coyly. "Maybe latah."

"I'm driving you to work tonight?" He validated.

"If you don't mind?"

"I don't."

"And um...if you wanna stay. I'd like that." She pushed around her eggs.

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah, I'm certain."

"Nervous about seeing Val?"

"Not nervous. Just…" She shook her head. "I dunno. It's gonna be weird."

"Still angry?"

"I'm hurt. Is that okay?"

"Your feelings are valid, Jude. Anger and hurt are...similar. Hand in hand."

"I feel betrayed." She gave him a hard look. "Again."

"Val's transgressions nowhere neared the scope of mine."

"Glad you recognize that."

"Jude."

"No, don't." She shook off the discussion, rising. "We're...gonna be fine, Timothy. Believe it or not, we're doin' okay. I think."

"You haven't killed me."

"Yet." She patted his shoulder as she walked by. Retrieved her cigarettes. She sat and took a long drag, studying him. "And the kissing's nice."

"Inarguably."

Jude set her hair after breakfast. Timothy tried to ignore the rollers and scarf combination, but when she laid upside down on the recliner, it was impossible to avoid laughing. She looked up backward from her book. "What?"

"Those can't be comfortable." He gestured to the pink sponge rollers.

"I don't notice them." She looked back to her book. "Besides. When you see the coif I'm crafting tonight, you'll understand the sacrifices."

His brows rose and he returned to his own reading.

He took Jude to Hathaway's at five. She needed time to rehearse and dress for her performance. "You don't have ta stay until the show if you don't want." She told him at the bar. "You can come back around eight."

"Or. He can sit and have a beer with an old man." Hathaway himself appeared at the bar, drying a glass.

"I'll sit." He smiled at Johnny, then at Jude. "I'll see you later?"

"Oh, you bet you will." She smirked. They shared a lip-biting, awkward moment with Hathaway watching curiously before Jude leaned in - halting - to present a high, pink cheekbone. Timothy kissed it. Jude dipped her head, tucking hair, gave Johnny a shy glance on the way to her dressing room.

"Well, I'll be." Johnny served up a draught for Timothy and one for himself. "If I didn't know any bettah, I'd think you'd tamed that bird."

"But you do know better." Timothy pointed out.

Johnny laughed hard. He always laughed hard. There was no in-between, no chuckles or snickers. John Hathaway had one laugh and that was full blown. "She seems like she's doin' alright with you, fella." Leaning on the bar, John struck Timothy as a father figure in that moment. "Certainly looks bettah than she did a few days ago."

"We're...working things out together."

" said you two had a thing once."

"More or less." The explanation had grown so tiresome. And honestly now seemed so inconsequential compared to their present relationship that it was simpler to just agree with the suppositions.

"Less, then and more now, huh?"

Timothy chuckled. "Exactly."

"Judy said...ya hurt her once."

He swallowed. The guilt would never end. "I did. Rather badly, I'm afraid."

"And ya regret it." Hathaway nipped the end of a cigar, offered one to Timothy. He declined kindly. "Ya learned a thing, too. That women like Judy - they're too rare for the world. Too fiery. Too passionate. And the fellas. Eh. Sometimes even the ladies - they want that fire. But when it burns 'em? Scares 'em. Poof! They gotta put it out somehow." He puffed the stogie while Timothy processed. "Fists. Words. Whatever weapon they choose. They try ta snuff the flame."

It made perfect sense. A blinding analogy. Jude had always been too fiery for the cloth. Too passionate to be a Sister of the Church. That red slip. Her cooking. The rich love in her brown eyes when she looked at him. And then...her wrath. Her fury. The unrelenting unforgiveness. Some part of him had known even then - when he'd first called her his rara avis - that she was _too_ rara.

But he'd been drawn to it. To her heat. Her warmth. Her worship. The depth of her emotion. Was it what he lacked of his own that pulled him? Yes, she'd scared the hell out of him. In more ways than one. She'd threatened him. With her fierceness, her independence, her simple righteousness. And he'd done a damn good job snuffing her flame.

Was that why she chose here? Purgatory? Because Hell's own flames might have consumed hers. Swallowed her up. And here, she could burn again.

He took a deep breath. Suddenly felt able to do so, as if his chest had been closed for a long time. "Jude," he whispered.

John was smiling softly at him. Tapped the bar. "If you let her burn ya, ya might enjoy it. Even if it means yar branded fer life."

They chatted of menial things after that. Trivia. Sports teams, which Timothy knew very little of. Good haberdashers in town. Hops and barley. The reliable construction of his Nash's then Val arrived.

"Tim?"

He turned on his stool. "Valerie." Her tortured expression softened him. "Sit." He patted the stool beside him.

Eyes reading relief, she climbed up. John set a beer before her, too. "Judy uh - gettin' ready?"

"Yes."

"She hates me now, huh?"

"I wouldn't say 'hates.' It's a rather strong word. She's hurt."

"Oh, I know! Tim, shit, don't get me wrong. I know how much Judy's changed. I know who she is now. I know Missy doesn't understand. But...I didn't know what ta say! Call my gal an idiot? Call my friend a whore? I couldn't make either of those choices. I just stood there like -"

"I understand, Val." He placed a hand atop hers, conveying his feeling. "And Jude...Jude will, too. She is a brilliant woman. And loyal. She doesn't want to lose you."

Val patted his hand. "Tim. You're too good far this world." And if those words piqued his guilt, he managed to ignore it. For the moment. "Think she'll accept my apology?"

He smirked. "Perhaps...not just yet." Val grinned, nodding. She knew Jude's moods, too. "But I will speak to her on your behalf. If you don't mind?"

A slow exhale. "Don't get yerself in the doghouse."

Johnny laughed at their exchange. "Ya both are wrong on Judy. I tell ya what. Just come at her with respect. Direct like. She'll tell ya how it is, but she'll appreciate bein' treated right. And Val. You know her better than that. Course she'll forgive ya. She fuckin' loves ya. But Missy…" He shook his head. "Eh. I dunno about that one."

Val frowned. "Missy's just -"

"Controlling!" Johnny snapped his fingers.

"That's not what I was gonna say, but…" Val shrugged. Rubbed at her forehead. "I guess I can see where you're comin' from."

"She needs ta lighten up." Johnny suggested. "Live a little herself. She oughta come down here with you a couple times. Maybe she'd find out we aren't all so damn bad."

"Probably not." Timothy interrupted. "At least not yet. Jude might...harm her."

"Ya gotta point." Hathaway agreed, pursing lips. He dried another glass.

Val was quiet, thinking. "I know that would technically be bad, but...shit. It'd be hella hot ta watch." Her companions laughed suddenly and hard, Timothy nearly choking on his beer. Val smiled, pleased to have amused her friends. "Oh hey, Tim! I was gonna talk to ya at dinner before everything went...tits up, so ta speak. I have kinda a job offer for ya. I mean - if you're wantin' ta pick up some extra cash."

"Ol' Ms. Lundt workin' ya ta death?" Johnny asked Val. "I told ya that was too much for ya." He shook his head.

Val sighed. "Yeah. I guess it's been a lot ta take on. Specially with the weather bein' cold. It's gonna snow soon, and that's just gonna make it worse."

Timothy was interested. Not so much because he needed money. That was still provided for him - at least for now. But a contingency plan was always good. And he could help Val. "I'd be pleased to have a project. What's the job?"

"I'm clearin' some land for ol' Ms. Lundt. The widow? She owns a bookstore in town -"

"Ah, yes! I know her! I go there often." He would be happy to help Ms. Lundt, as well.

"You would." Val chuffed. "And I do some stuff around her house. It's old and kinda rickety. Hasn't been touched in a while. But uh...it's killin' me."

"I'm happy to help."

"Yeah?" She eyed him. "Got a chainsaw?"

"Um…"

"Evah cut down a tree?"

"Well -"

She laughed. Slapped his back. "I'll pick ya up Monday morning, Tim. I got an extra saw, and I'll even learn ya the ropes."

He blushed, feeling again just slightly useless in the practical world. "Thank you."

"Nah, thank _you_ , Tim. You'll be a lotta help." She sniffled, pausing. "Um...ya know. Not many people round here are too keen ta work with me. Or talk to me. Or...ya know...anything with me. I guess cuz I'm gay and all. You're turnin' out ta be a pretty good friend ta me, Nancy."

The bare words - ineloquent as they were - heated his sinus. His eyes felt wet. He looked up at a red-shaded light fixture. "Well. You've been a fine friend to me, as well, Val. And it is not for me to judge any person." He looked down at his empty pint. "I made that mistake once before. And now, I am the one to be judged."

Hathaway smiled knowingly at the unlikely pair. Set two new pints before them. "You un's." He tisked. "Good folk."

They solidified plans for work over their new pints. Swapped jokes. Timothy was pained from laughter when a tall black trombonist approached him. "Hey, Tim?"

"Yes?"

"Judy needs ya. In her dressin' room."

"Thank you." He turned to Val and Johnny. "Excuse me."

Johnny waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Go be needed."

The band was beginning to tune when he passed the stage. Down the dim hallway that he remembered all too well to Jude's door. He knocked softly. "Jude?" She opened the door quickly, obviously waiting. "Hey. You -"

Words stopped. Everything stopped. Rampant curls spilled over bare shoulders. Her eyes glimmered even closed - glittery gold. His eyes followed the trail of gold all the way down her body. So much body. Leg bared by the slit in skin-hugging gold satin, thin straps crossing naked back and he noticed a beauty mark nearly center of her spine. The dress glistened with golden beading. "Jude…"

"You okay?"

"Yes?" He wasn't sure why it sounded like he was asking.

"Huh." She wasn't sure, either. "Bored out there?"

"No. Talking to Johnny." He paused. "And Val."

A shadow passed ever so briefly through her eyes. "That's nice."

"Jude. Val is -"

"It's me."

"What?"

She waved impatiently. "It's not Val, Timothy. It's me. My shit. Shit I gotta deal with. I'll talk ta Val. She'll understand. We'll be - we're fine."

"Oh." Well, that was easy.

"Do us a favah?"

"Jude…"

She turned briskly, not noticing how hypnotized he was by the shape of her, the rustle of beads, the cream of revealed skin. "Tie me up?"

The straps were loose, apparently, laced through a corset-like network of satin loops. "Um…" His fingers trembled around the slick strings dangling near her hips.

"I look okay?"

"You look…" He wasn't certain how to tell her. What words wouldn't sound as trivial as 'beautiful' or as lacking as 'incredible.' His fingertips couldn't resist touching the skin of her back - just lightly - and she flinched a bit in surprise. "You look like a precious thing." He whispered.

She turned toward him when his hand fell away from her back. Eyes wide and hopeful. "Must be the gold."

He shook his head. Stroked her glowing curls, her jaw. "No. It's what's inside the gold."

She pressed into his caress. "Thank you."

He wanted to kiss her like this. Feel the odd texture differentiation between her soft warm skin and the cool glass beads. Hesitantly, he took her jaw in both hands. "Can I -"

He felt her soft laugh against his wrists. "Don't ask. Far fuck's sake, Timothy. Just kiss me."

Not the deep, searching, aching kiss of the night before. This one was soft and worshipful - the kiss one gives to a long-time coveted prize. She held his elbows, hands slipping up to cup shoulders. They tilted. Found a rhythm of breathing. Settled in to deepen contact. He let go her jaw, brushed wondrous hands down her bareness to hold her waist. His fingers stroked the dress seam and her skin and it was as perfect a dichotomy as he'd imagined.

"Mmm." Jude moaned softly at the stroking. Pressed against him. The moan felt like a symphony vibrato in his throat and he couldn't not taste her mouth a second longer. His tongue was questing slowly when - of course (almost predictably) - someone knocked at her door.

"Judy! You got a setlist ready? We're rehearsin' out here!"

Her hands went to his chest as much to steady herself as to break their contact. He didn't stop stroking, though. He couldn't. "Yeah, Vic!" Her call cracked. "Hold on a sec!" She patted his chest. "Yar gettin' bettah at that already." Her voice was sex again. "I have ta...go to them. We're on in an hour."

"Of course." Timothy nodded, forehead tapping hers.

"Yar still...rubbin' me." She pointed out.

"Of course." He smiled.

"God, Timothy." She groaned and grabbed his head. One more sound, wet kiss. "Shit, I gotta go." Pained, she pulled his hands from her waist. "I'll...I'll see ya after the show." She opened the door as if afraid he might pin her against it. And the thought _had_ occurred to him.

"Jude."

She turned, flushed and flustered. "What?"

"You're breathtaking."

"Oh, shut up."

The door closed and he leaned against it, grinning.

That night Hathaway's crowd seemed particularly charged. It was as if there was an electricity in the air - some impending implosion. What Timothy had heard of the band's rehearsal had been...different. Dramatic almost. And they'd moved the lights and hung plastic colored filters. He was a little nervous about what Jude might have planned. Hoped she wasn't going for Val's blood like she'd gone for his.

But at eight pm - when you couldn't have squeezed another body into the joint with lube - the lights dimmed and a low hum consumed the crowd. Timothy caught Val's eyes at the door and could see similar confusion on her features. Even John Hathaway commented, "Well, this is different."

One red light backlit the singer and her voice cut the darkness like a cleaver.

 _I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm_

 _And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold_

 _My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones_

 _It keeps my veins hot, the fires find a home in me_

 _I move through town, I'm quiet like a fight_

 _And my necklace is a rope, I tie it and untie it_

 _And our people talk to me, but nothing ever hits_

 _So people talk to me, and all the voices just burn holes_

 _I'm going in (ooh)_

 _This is the start of how it all ever ends_

 _They used to shout my name, now they whisper it_

 _I'm speeding up and this is the_

 _Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart_

The orange light revealed her in a flowing red cloak, moving confidently about the stage. And the crowd may have found this performance different, as well, but they certainly weren't complaining. Jude was captivating; curls a mane framing those smokey, glittering gold eyes, and she worked that red satin cape as if it was a dancer.

 _We rip the start, the colors disappear_

 _I never watch the stars there's so much down here_

 _So I just try to keep up with the_

 _Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart_

 _I dream all year, but they're not the same kinds_

 _And the shivers move down my shoulder blades in double time_

 _And now people talk to me I'm slipping out of reach now_

 _People talk to me, and all their faces blur_

 _But I got my fingers laced together and I made a little prison_

 _And I'm locking up everyone that ever laid a finger on me_

Timothy left his station at the bar, knowing he would lose it to a guest, and went to Valerie. She leaned in the entryway to the main floor. No one would be coming or going during Judy's set; they simply hadn't the space for another patron. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she stared at Jude. "She's definitely got somethin' on her mind tonight."

"I agree." He leaned toward her to hear her over the band. "I don't think she's angry still, Val. She said something about it being her? Said the two of you would talk."

"Oh, of course we will. Judy's a forgiving soul."

Timothy's eyes narrowed. He too stared at the woman consuming the stage. "Is she now?"

 _I'm going in (ooh)_

 _This is the start of how it all ever ends_

 _They used to shout my name, now they whisper it_

 _I'm speeding up and this is the_

 _Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart_

The crowd loved the song. Ate it up. Perhaps this bold, heavy sound was just the refresher they'd needed. They closed in on the stage, eager for the next track.

"Have you noticed she hasn't had a drink all night?" Val asked.

"Yes. She's trying."

"She is." A proud smile.

 _I woke up to another mess in the living room_

 _Broken bottles all around my feet_

 _They came again in the night under crescent moon_

 _Didn't wake me in my sleep_

 _'Cause they talk and drink and laugh 'bout things_

 _And fall in love in my backyard_

 _I hide and cower in the corner_

 _Conversation's getting hard_

 _'Cause nobody seems to ask about me anymore_

 _And nobody seems to care 'bout anything I think_

 _And nobody seems to recognize me in the crowd_

 _In the background screaming, "everybody, look at me"_

And just as they spoke of Jude's sobriety, an arm extended from the crowd - an arm holding a golden libation. Timothy and Valerie stirred at once, curious and concerned. When Jude took the drink, he bit his lip. But she toasted the crowd, turned, and discreetly set it on a bandstand. He and Val shared an impressed and relieved stare.

 _And I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire_

 _And I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire_

 _I'm standing in the ashes of who I used to be_

 _And I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire_

 _You know, I used to be on fire_

 _You know, I used to be on fire, fire_

Timothy thought of John's words earlier. Thought of Jude's words now - the ones she sang so passionately. Did she feel her fire was being extinguished? He found he couldn't bear the thought - the thought that he or anyone else would snuff that passionate flame. He wanted to ask her. To go to her even now, take her shoulders in his hands and demand the truth: if letting him into her life, forgiving him, loving him, was tantamount to a biblical flood reducing her to ruins - to a waning steam.

He found he preferred the fire...

 _I used to be a darling starlet like a centerpiece_

 _Had the whole world wrapped around my ring_

 _I flew too closely to the sun that's setting in the east_

 _And now I'm melting from my wings_

 _'Cause I'd laugh and drink and talk 'bout things_

 _And fall in love in my backyard_

 _Now it´s my own anxiety_

 _That makes the conversation hard_

 _'Cause nobody seems to ask about me anymore_

 _And nobody ever cares 'bout anything I think_

 _And nobody seems to recognize me in the crowd_

 _In the background screaming, "everybody, look at me"_

 _And I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire_

 _And I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire_

 _I'm standing in the ashes of who I used to be_

 _But I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire_

The lights dimmed. Cymbals vibrated. Val put a hand on his arm. "You look awfully serious."

"Am I...am I simply breaking her again?"

"Breakin' her?" Val's forehead creased. "Aw, Tim. Why would ya think that?"

"Isn't that what she's saying?" His throat hurt. He looked squarely at Val. "That I'm putting out her fire?"

Val shook her head, realization dawning. "Ya know. I think...sometimes fire is...damaging. And that kinda fire _needs_ ta be put out. The real fire in Judy - it's not a destructive one. Like maybe she was in earlier. Maybe the fire she's in now is...like a rebuilding kind. Does that make sense?"

It _did_ make sense. Some kind of ambiguous sense, he supposed. Val nudged him. "Maybe you're setting Judy on a different kinda fire, huh?" She winked. "One you both might warm up to."

And he liked the thought of that. In fact, he was smiling when the lights shifted again. Brightened in a golden filter that revealed a true goddess wrapping glittering fingers around a microphone.

 _Rock on gold dust woman_

 _Take your silver spoon_

 _Dig your grave_

 _Heartless challenge_

 _Pick your path and I'll pray_

The gold dress - revealed - worked its magic immediately. Every eye glued to the jeweled creature on stage, but the creature's eyes glued to another pair: Val's.

 _Wake up in the morning_

 _See your sunrise loves to go down_

 _Lousy lovers pick their prey_

 _But they never cry out loud_

 _Cry out_

 _Did she make you cry_

 _Make you break down_

 _Shatter your illusions of love_

 _And is it over now do you know how_

 _Pick up the pieces and go home._

Val's eyes glistened, now. Unshed tears revealing her understanding, and it was Timothy's turn to nudge her. "You okay?"

"I think I will be."

 _Rock on ancient queen_

 _Follow those who pale_

 _In your shadow_

 _Rulers make bad lovers_

 _You better put your kingdom up for sale_

 _Up for sale_

She even _pointed_ at Val. Singled out the subject of her message. And Val nodded in reply. Timothy watched something pass between them. Was this Jude's way of 'talking?' Did she do all of her communicating musically?

 _Well did she make you cry_

 _Make you break down_

 _Shatter your illusions of love_

 _And is it over now, do you know how_

 _Pick up the pieces and go home._

As the music swelled to its crescendo, Jude swelled to her own. She spun. Wrapped herself in a sheer, shimmering golden shawl. Knelt to the crowd, took their hands. It was as if her message was for them as much for Val: that she could not be quelled by judgment; was a force to be reckoned with; that she would rise above any who would try to destroy her kingdom.

 _Ooooh, Pale_

 _Shadow_

 _Of a woman_

His senses became aware of another stare. Odd - one just behind him. He turned, surprised to see Missy lingering in the shadows of the door. Almost hiding. She didn't notice his notice; she was too busy staring at Jude.

 _Black widow_

 _Pale_

 _Shadow_

 _Of a dragon_

He tapped Val's arm. When she looked at him askance, he nodded toward Missy. Val gasped seeing her partner, a small surprised smile lighting her face, and gestured. But Missy shook her head, stepped even further into shadow.

 _Gold dust woman_

 _Pale_

 _Shadow_

 _Of a woman_

 _Black widow_

So Val let Missy hide. And so did Timothy. Perhaps there was a fear of being burned. He understood it entirely too well. Jude had no idea what a power she truly possessed.

 _Pale_

 _Shadow_

 _She's a dragon_

 _Gold dust woman_

 _Woman, woman_

Or she _did_. Maybe she did understand. As her voice faded with the light, she pulled that magical gilt shawl over her face, obscuring a Midas' smirk. Yes, she knew.

"Thank you." Her voice - a bit raspy now - penetrated the dim. "You've all been so patient tonight." The crowd called, whistled for more. "I guess I can leave ya with a little somethin' ta dance to, huh?" A full blown cheer. The lights rose again and Timothy turned to see Missy gone. "So...grab somebody ta keep ya warm tonight, kay?"

 _He calls me the devil_

 _I make him wanna sin_

 _Every time I knock, he can't help but let me in_

 _Must be homesick for the real_

 _I'm the realest it gets_

And now she embraced the power. Moved through the crowd like a fiery serpent. Slithered against men and women alike - against couples dancing to her sultry siren song. He was coming to understand it - this sensual side of Jude. Point of fact, he was coming to covet it madly.

 _You probably still adore me_

 _With my hands around your neck_

 _Can you feel the warmth, yeah_

 _'Cause my kiss goes down you like some sweet alcohol_

 _Where I'm coming from, yeah_

 _Is a darker side of me that makes you feel so numb_

 _'Cause we're hot like hell_

So it shouldn't have surprised him when the serpent slithered against him. When its forked-tongue breath plied his ear. When she turned Val beneath her arm and pulled him to her - hard - by his belt buckle.

 _Does it burn when I'm not there?_

 _When you're by yourself_

 _Am I the answer to your prayers_

 _I'm giving you the pleasure of heaven_

 _And I'll give it to you_

 _Hotter than hell_

 _Hotter than hell_

"Jude." He hissed in her ear when she dipped against him. He knew she heard the warning in his voice. She didn't heed it. Slid a bare leg up his own, singing as if he was simply another furnishing.

 _You're my manna from heaven_

 _We all gotta get fed_

 _Can't let me know I'm wanted_

 _Can't let me in your head_

 _I'm not here to make you kneel_

 _But it's praise that I'll get_

 _You ain't gonna walk free boy_

 _Not finished with you yet, no_

Her nails scraped his scalp when his hands gripped her waist. She pulled his ear to her lips and hissed her own warning - quickly - between verses: "This is yours." A teasing almost kiss before she was gone - swaying back through the crowd to the stage.

 _Can you feel the warmth, yeah_

 _'Cause my kiss goes down you like some sweet alcohol_

 _Where I'm coming from, yeah_

 _Is a darker side of me that makes you feel so numb_

 _'Cause we're hot like hell_

 _Does it burn when I'm not there?_

 _When you're by yourself_

 _Am I the answer to your prayers_

 _I'm giving you the pleasure of heaven_

 _And I'll give it to you_

 _Hotter than hell_

 _Hotter than hell_

Back on the stage she held the mic stand like a lover. Touched her own body with her shameless, fiery fingers. Stroked hips. Shifted dress. Bent leg. Squeezed breasts. She sang breathless now, the lyrics fast. Her neck arched, sweat glistening there and she slicked it up, tasted her own fingers - bit the sinful digits. Licked them and the swollen, pink pouty lips. Pulled at her own mane as those wet fingers disappeared beneath the slit in that dress, doing God knew what to the Devil knew what part of herself…

 _When we go down right there_

 _You make me feel right there_

 _When you lay me down right there_

 _We just make it right there_

 _Cause you're looking so right there_

 _Baby you should touch me right there_

 _If you take me right there_

 _We can make it_

 _'Cause we're hot like hell_

 _Does it burn when I'm not there?_

 _When you're by yourself_

 _Am I the answer to your prayers_

 _I'm giving you the pleasure of heaven_

 _And I'll give it to you_

 _Hotter than hell_

 _And I'll give it to you_

 _Hotter than hell_

Lights dimmed on her orgasmic antics. Drums continued. Timothy ached. Burned in his groin. The diabolical golden dragon vixen… She terrified him. He should have left town the night she told him to. He should have taken his chances in Hell. He shouldn't have kissed her in his kitchen, wrapped his arms around her in sleep, touched her hot bare skin with his clumsy childish hands.

Or he should have pinned her against that door.

"God help ya, Tim," Val murmured in his ear.

"He can't." Honest confession.

Val was back to manning the door. Now that the band was in swing mode, dancers came and went. Timothy waited at the bar, taking the piss from Hathaway.

"I tell ya what. Judy musta been really on one tonight!" The bartender chuckled, slapping Timothy's shoulder. "I almost feel sorry for ya, fella."

"You should." Timothy muttered. How would he take her home tonight wondering what her own fingers had felt beneath that dress?

"Whoooo, she sure is somethin'!"

"Something, indeed." Timothy rubbed at his eyes. Some kind of devil angel succubus Hellcat beast…

"Ay, Tim?" The trombonist. Was it Nick? Yes, Nick. "Judy's ready ta go she says."

"Of course she is."

Hathaway laughed, fist pounding the bar. "Envy of every man in here!" He pointed at Timothy's flushing face. "You take care of yerself, buddy. Don't let her throw ya back out!" The guffaws followed him from the bar.

In her dressing room, the band was a muffled pulse. She'd changed into the green dress she'd worn earlier. But it was too late - he already knew 75% of what was underneath it. And the other 25% simply scared him.

He sat boneless on the tattered couch. Watched her remove the last of the glitter from her eyelids. He could tell she was fighting a grin.

"Well? What'd ya think?"

He sighed deeply. "I think you...are going to kill me." He bent forward, cradled his head in his hands.

She had the audacity to chuckle. "How about the shoes? They were new."

"I doubt anyone noticed your shoes."

"Huh." A stockinged toe invaded his space. Poked his knee. "What a waste." He swatted at the foot and she patted his head. "Come on. Let's go home."

They sneaked out the back door. Halfway to the Nash in a light drizzle of cold rain. "Judy!"

She turned. He waited. Val. The brunette appeared hesitant at first, but Jude gave a small smile, she ran. Threw arms around her friend. "Judy! I'm so sorry! I'm -"

"Val." Jude held the woman's head. Met her eyes. "Stop. You know who I am." A shrug. "She doesn't. Not her fault. And all that shit she said? Some of it was true. Or used ta be. I can't call her a damn liar. And I can't expect you or Tim or anybody else ta fight my battles far me. And I don't need ya to." She kissed Val's forehead. "I love ya."

"Judy…" Val squeezed Jude's shoulders. "Just give her a little time. Will ya? Will ya get ta know her, maybe? If she'll -"

"I got all the time in the world, baby." Jude dismissed further apology. The rain was intensifying. "Go on now. Shut the joint down. Tim's gonna take me home and make me dinnah and rub my feet." He pursed his lips, accepting that all those things were true. "Those new shoes did a numbah on me!"

"Ya...ya had new shoes?" Val asked, voice small.

Jude tisked. "Fuck!" She threw up her hands. "They're beautiful shoes! Gah!" She stalked to the car.

"Good night, Val."

Val nodded at him. Winked. "I bet it will be."

He was hot and pink when he opened the door for Jude. Cleared his throat as he settled behind the wheel. "I um...I can't imagine why no one notice your new shoes." She cut him a glare, but softened. Smiling. "You were truly...captivating tonight." He cranked the car. Smoothly navigated around the usual staggering crowd.

"Thanks." She flicked on the stereo, seeing that the weather would give them a slow drive home.

 _I want to live, I want to give_

 _I've been a miner for a heart of gold_

 _It's these expressions I never give_

 _That keep me searching for a heart of gold and I'm getting old_

 _Keep me searching for a heart of gold and I'm getting old_

"Missy was there." He told her. "Hiding."

"I saw her." Jude smirked again.

"I thought so." He bit his lip. "Jude."

"What?"

"I don't want to...I don't want you to feel...stifled."

"Stifled."

"I don't want to be the man who...who puts out your fire."

"My fire." She looked at him. Raindrops on the window made tear-shaped shadows on her face. "You think I got fire?"

"I think you _are_ fire." He swallowed. "I know that I hurt you before. Broke you. Beyond badly, Jude, I…" Words failed him again. "I was like the flood that drowned you. And I don't want you to think I'm here to do that again."

She was quiet. Thinking. Suddenly, she slid across the seat. Gripped his jaw and wetly kissed his cheek. He nearly swerved. "I've gotten bettah at swimmin.'"

 _I've been to Hollywood, I've been to Redwood_

 _I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold_

 _I've been in my mind, it's such a fine line_

 _That keeps me searching for a heart of gold and I'm getting old_

He smiled. Felt relief relax every muscle. Val's words echoed in his mind: "Judy's a forgiving soul." He was beginning to believe that.

"Val and I noticed that you didn't drink tonight."

"Oh?" She looked out her window. "Yeah. I was uh…"

"I imagine that was difficult."

She licked her lips. "Well."

"It took a lot of strength, Jude."

"Mm-hm."

He pulled into the drive and they sat in the car for a few more minutes, listening to the song that had played them home. Jude had grown quiet. Thoughtful.

 _Keeps me searching for a heart of gold and I'm getting old_

 _Keep me searching for a heart of gold_

 _You keep me searching and I'm growing old_

 _Keep me searching for a heart of gold_

 _I've been a miner for a heart of gold_

"Come on." He touched her jaw. "We'll warm up some soup and make sandwiches."

"Sounds good."

They ate quietly. He assumed she was tired. She certainly looked tired. Her hair escaped its chignon and curled around her jaw. "I'm pleased you and Val have patched things up so smoothly. I imagine you would have missed each other deeply."

"Mm-hm."

He tried a little harder, realizing now that something was on her mind. "Your songs were certainly affective tonight." A chuff of laughter. "Very um...provocative."

"Timothy." She turned her spoon in her empty soup bowl.

"Yes?"

"I _did_ drink tonight." Her hands went to her lap. "During rehearsals. I had two shots of bourbon." She sighed heavily. "I didn't intend ta lie to ya. And I wasn't trying to hide it or anything. I just didn't think -"

"Jude." He reached across the table, palm up. "Stop." She put a hand on his. "I didn't mean to...force expectations."

"I was so wound up!" She stood, pacing. "I couldn't focus. Couldn't get my timin' on. My highs kept crackin' open." Lit a cigarette. Suddenly pointed at him. "It's _yar_ fault."

He blinked, completely blindsided by her vehemence. "My fault? How so?"

"Oh, come on!" She scoffed. "Kissin' me like that? You _knew_ I had a set on deck!"

""You told me to kiss you!"

"I didn't tell ya ta kiss me like _that!"_

"Like _what_ exactly?" He demanded, incredulous.

She paused, leaned against the couch. A slow exhale of smoke. " _That_...was a fuck-me-now kiss, Timothy."

"A fu…" He couldn't even say it. "I assure you I had no such intentions."

"Didn't feel that way."

"Jude." Now he stood. "If my intention had been to…"

"Say it." She challenged. Chin up.

He re-phrased. " _When_ it is my intention to -"

"Oh, so it's all about yar intentions, now?"

"Stop putting words in my mouth!"

"Stop putting yar tongue in mine!"

"But it feels good!" He growled, turning away from her. "Jude, this is ridiculous. We are adults. A grown woman and a grown man. We should hardly be arguing about kissing. I think this is about more than that."

"I'm sorry I drank."

"It's not about that either, Jude. Two shots does not an alcoholic make." He sat, rubbed his forehead tiredly. "You scare the hell out of me."

She chuckled. Sat across from him again. "I shouldn't tease ya so much. I'll stop."

"No. It's not that." It was embarrassing, really - the truth. "Jude. I have _no_ idea what to do with you." He ignored her laugh, continued relieved to be saying it aloud. "When I kiss you, I concentrate on every aspect of that kiss. Pressure. Angle. Taste. And if that concentration is broken - if you...moan or make one of those little noises -"

"I can't make noises?"

"When you do that," he overrode her interruption. "It completely unravels me. And tonight...I felt your skin and that dress and...you were so…"

"Timothy." He looked at her, fully expecting a ripe ribbing. "I know that you're...inexperienced. And I know that what experience you do have is not exactly ideal." Her tone was sympathetic. Genuine. This was genuine Judy. "And I want ta be patient with ya. So that... _when_ your intentions are to fuck me -"

"Jude, it would never be like that!"

"Yar never gonna fuck me?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Thank God!" She was smiling widely. "Because ya drive me crazy, too! You know that? Don't think this is some one-sided flirtation. It's been a long time since anybody's made me feel…"

"What?" He asked. "Made you feel what?"

She shook her head, lost. "Like I wanted more than to pretend to be asleep and wait for them ta snore so I could sneak out and finish dressing on the sidewalk of some seedy motel."

"Ah." He shrugged. "I suppose I could always get a room back at the Blue Moo if you felt more comfortable -"

"Yar not really funny when yar bein' funny, you know that?" But she was laughing anyway.

"I want more than to fuck you, Jude."

She blushed a little. "Me too." Nodded with finality. "And I'll wait far that." Then, discreetly, she extracted a slip of paper from her dress pocket and a stubby pencil.

"What's that?"

"Oh, this is my tally. Of yar curse words."

"No, it isn't." She flashed a few hash marks at him. "Give me that shit!" He reached for it and she yanked it back.

"Hell, no! That's like...five, I think?" She made a mark against the wall.

"Unbelievable." He groaned. "You drive me to curse!"

"And you drive me to drink." She put the paper back in her pocket. "So. In order to prevent further shots being taken...if you kiss me like that before a set again? You bettah fuck the shit outta me before I go on." He swallowed. She stood, stretched. "Now. How about my foot rub?"

They turned on the television. A documentary about hummingbirds. Jude stretched out on the couch, stockings discarded, feet in Timothy's lap. And Timothy learned the anatomy of the female foot. Or specifically Jude's foot.

How she had small calloused patches on the outsides of her toes (he suspected from her deadly heels). Smooth patches back of each heal. Her toes tapered prettily. The nails were painted gold tonight, to match her fingers.

Too light a touch made her giggle. So he kept his ministrations firm. Twisting, kneading, tugging, plying the soft and rough skin. And Jude wriggled occasionally. Sighed. Pitched and moaned on particularly deep bouts of thumb work. Hissed. Cursed under her breath. Generally drove him insane.

He was glad for the dim lighting in the house hiding his straining erection. Alternately glad and daunted whenever an errant heel stroked it through his pants. He was sweating when she extracted her foot from his grip. "Alright?" He asked shakily.

"Bettah than alright. Timothy?" She sat up on her knees near him.

"Yes?"

"I want ya ta trust me far a minute, kay?"

"Trust you?"

"D'you trust me?" She was leaning toward him.

"I do." He did.

"Good." Her voice was low and husky. "Can I touch you?"

"Please." Christ, he wanted her to touch him.

She settled close to him. Very close. He could feel her warmth and her breasts against his shoulder. "I mean...here." Gently, her hand stroked from his knee up. Up to his groin. The fingers gripped his zipper pull, asking permission. "Just touch." She promised. Her breath caressed his ear, and he nodded. Couldn't trust his voice. "Tell me if you want me ta stop, alright?"

Another nod. She unzipped him. He helped her with his belt and the clasp on his trousers. His belly flipped anticipation. He heard his pulse in his ears as her hand slipped so softly into opening of his boxers. "Jude." He grabbed her wrist.

She stopped. Aware of his every reaction. "What, baby?"

He didn't ask permission. Slid his arm up her back, pulling her to him and into a kiss. And this time, with no one to interrupt them, he was able to taste her mouth for the first time. Tea. Tobacco. Salt. _Fire_. And if he thought he was unprepared for the taste of her mouth, he was truly unprepared for the feel of her hand on his bare, straining cock.

"Ah! Jude!" He cried out at the purely sinful sensation ribboning his spine. His head rolled bonelessly against the couch and she nuzzled his neck.

"Okay?" She murmured.

Her strokes were exquisite compared to his own. Hot and teasing, then a knowing twist turned the tickle into an eye-rolling spasm. "So fucking good," he whispered, mindless.

"Yeah?" She bit at his earlobe. Kissed him open-mouthed and dirty. "I wanna make ya feel good, Timothy."

He'd managed to pull her awkwardly onto one thigh. She straddled it cowgirl style, still stroking him with surgical precision perhaps not noticing that his hands were busily finding their way beneath her skirt until she felt them urging her thighs to part. "Oh," she whimpered against his mouth, clutched his head with her free hand.

Because if she could explore, why shouldn't he? He was eager to unfold the mystery, but had no idea how literal the unfolding would be. How hot she would be against his hand - even through lace. How sticky wet she would coat his fingers when they dipped beneath the taut elastic. How violently she would surge against him. How truly foul her mouth could be when she was teetering on the edge of lust.

"Shit. Timothy." Her voice was deep and throaty. "Fuck. Please…"

"Please what, Jude? Tell me what -"

"Put your fingers inside me!"

Easy enough. She was slick as a slug. But "Christ, that's tight." He noted through a haze of pleasure sizzling in his gut. Her hand still worked him, sleeking pre-cum to make the work smoother. He would have thought perhaps it hurt but the way she moved on and against the fingers suggested quite the opposite.

"Perfect." Her eyes closed. She concentrated. Her strokes intensified.

He tried a few strokes of his own. Twisting. The skin in that tight channel was lava hot. He wondered if he'd tapped the true source of her fire.

Suddenly her breath caught and she clamped his head to hers. "Fuck, Tim keep doin' that!"

"You, too." He caught her lip between his.

The same little twist. His fingers seemed so deep inside her. The same quick, rough stroke and the burgeoning tightness in his bollocks. "Jude…"

"Yeah, it's okay." She urged him. "Just come, Timothy. It's okay. I gotcha." She held him close through an almost painful, prolonged release. He worried he would pump his very essence all over her hand.

She slowed each stroke. Lightened the touch. Nursed his pleasure. And when he'd spent himself, that sticky hand joined his beneath her skirt. She bared down. Rode his wrist, her own fingers working magic above his. He watched her shudder, felt the clenching waves, fearful muscles spasming so hard his fingers ached a bit. "You're beautiful," he growled against her jaw.

"Ah!" Her answering cry was sharp. She gripped his shoulder, the hold sliding up his neck until it took his head. In her kiss was peace. They caught breath against each other's sweaty faces. "Jesus…" She murmured.

Little quivers. Tiny earthquakes. Curiously, he fluttered his fingers as he withdrew them and she giggled. "Sorry."

"For what?" Suddenly, he was giggling too. It was...simply insane. There was no way to wipe her hand with dignity so she didn't bother. Simply extracted it and scrubbed against her skirt. "Will that...will that wash out?" He asked.

Her giggle turned to true, wracking laughter. She collapsed against him. He held her fast, joining her in this inane humor. "Like a couple horny teenagers." She kissed his cheek, sighing.

"Is this what teenagers are doing these days?" He relaxed into cushions. Couldn't move much beyond that. "No wonder we live in a Godless time."

"And we're the ones who are clearly stunted." They sobered, basking in a mutual afterglow. She shifted to lay across his lap, kindly arranging him within his trousers first. "Are you alright?" She caressed his jaw.

"I'm fine." He answered. Couldn't stop another burst of laughter. "I think I'm wonderful, actually." Caught her arm lazily. "Which hand are you touching my face with?"

She laughed again, too. "You'll nevah know."

"My shirt is stuck to my stomach."

"Well, these panties are done far."

" _I'm_ done for!" He looked at his own hand, considering the options, and she offered skirt. "When in Rome…" He murmured.

Their eyes locked. He hadn't meant to speak the words. But they were spoken. Accustomed to the darkness, he could see the wistful expression on her face. "This is bettah than Rome would have evah been."

He smiled. "Rara avis? I agree."

She bathed. They were both filthy, but he let her go first, needing the alone time to process. And rest. After his quick shower, they settled into bed, comfortable now with the arrangement. They looked at one another in the pillows, on the verge of more laughter. "I can't believe I gave you a handjob." Jude whispered.

"Well. I suppose I gave you a handjob, too." She snorted. "We can um - we can do it again, right?"

Her eyes widened. "Now?!"

"No, not now!" He laughed. "Unless you're -"

"I got a cramp in my wrist."

"Which you deserve." He shook his hand in the moonlight. "I still have no feeling in my index finger."

She kissed the hand. "You've got amazing fingers."

"You, too." Her eyes were drifting closed. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but… He wasn't certain yet if that acceptable. If she was receptive. The woman who had his fingers in her half an hour ago. He wasn't even certain he was a forgiven man, yet. He wondered how many fingers it would take to achieve that. "Good night," he whispered instead.

She grunted. Shifted and shuffled around in the bed until she was bastioned beneath all the blankets and wriggled beneath his arm. He smiled into her hair. "If there's an erection in my ass in the morning -"

"I recognize you are fully qualified to handle it."

"Thank you."

But he woke peacefully and alone. Frowned. There was noise in the kitchen, though. Jude cooking, singing along softly to the little stereo.

 _I was only walking through your neighborhood_

 _Saw you out loud honey in the cold I stood_

 _Anywhere I go there you are_

 _Anywhere I go there you are_

He smelled pancakes. "Can I help?"

She turned from the stove, spatula in hand. "You're lucky there isn't a no shirt no service rule in this kitchen. Set the table?"

He did. Perfectly normal. Setting the table shirtless. Drinking coffee shirtless. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of her stockings discarded on the back of the couch. Perfectly normal. Handjobs and hummingbirds. She gave him a hip bump and he nearly lost his balance, sloshed coffee onto the floor. "Dammit!"

"Ooooh, I need ta tally that one. _And_ the one from last night."

"Fairly certain there was more than one last night."

"Nope." She shook her head, flipping a fluffy pancake easily. "Just the one. I thought I could squeeze a few more out, but…" He blushed.

 _I been getting used to waking up with you_

 _I been getting used to waking up here_

 _Anywhere I go there you are_

 _Anywhere I go there you are_

 _There you are_

 _There you are_

He set out the butter. Squeezed orange juice. By the time he retrieved the syrup, she was plating six cake high stacks. "Hungry?"

She shrugged. "Musta worked up an appetite last night." He blushed again.

 _You're the fire and the flood_

 _And I'll always feel you in my blood_

 _Everything is fine_

 _When your hand is resting next to mine_

 _Next to mine_

 _You're the fire and the flood_

Eating pancakes shirtless was nice. A dollop of syrupy butter landed on his pec. "Mm." He reached for a napkin.

"Leave it." Jude gestured. Licked her fork. "I'll get it latah."

He left it. When the phone rang, he answered it shirtless. "Hello."

"Nancy. Morning."

"Indeed. Good morning, Val." He hissed when Jude suddenly appeared before him, licking the syrupy butter from his chest. "How are you?"

"Can't complain. What'd ya do last night?"

Jude gave him a cigarette and a fresh coffee. When she sat to the table again, he could see down the V of her silky nightgown and fell a little deeper in love. "We...watched a documentary on hummingbirds."

"Wow. That sounds hella exciting."

"They lead fascinating tiny lives."

"Well, I got some news. There was a flood last night at Hathaways'. Seems all that rain finally had its way with the roof in back. Johnny called me this morning. Not too bad, I guess. They're cleaning it up today, but they're gonna close off the back room tonight ta dry out. So Judy'll have ta get dressed at your place."

"I will let her know." He reached over her to flick his cigarette.

"I can bring her a dress or whatever she needs. I'm gonna go clear all her stuff out anyway so's they can mop and all."

"Do you need help?"

"Aw, sweet offer, Tim. But we got it. You takin' Judy ta work?"

"I'm uncertain." He watched Jude sop her plate with a finger, then suck it. "I suppose...she'll let me know."

"Well, if not, I can take her when I bring her stuff."

"Not a problem."

"Thanks, Tim. I'll see ya latah!"

"What's up?" Jude asked.

"Apparently, there was a flood last night at Hathaway's. They're cleaning today, but closing the back. Val is going to bring your things to you."

"Oh, good. She can take me ta work."

He nodded, sitting across from her. "Shall I come tonight? To see you?"

She narrowed eyes at him. "Worried I'll drink?"

"No." He wasn't worried. At least not worried that she would drink dangerously. Two shots in nearly as many weeks. She was really doing quite well. "In fact, I think I'll stay here tonight." Trust had to start somewhere. She had to see that.

Her lips worked. "Well. I'm not doin' anything special tonight, so...yeah. Why don't you stay here and um...rest up?"

"Um…"

"You'll need yar strength."

They wasted the day barely clothed. It was freeing. He kept the stove stoked and they watched a program on tortoises, mostly kissing. He'd discovered the delights of Jude's hardened nipples when he remembered to tell her about Val.

"I'm going to work with Val Monday."

"Mmmm." She arched into a pinch, pressing his cock into her ass - again. "Helpin' her clear Ms. Lundt's place?"

"Yes. God, woman!"

She wriggled on his lap and chuckled. "Sounds like hard work."

"You're hard work." She was guiding his hand down her body, turned sidewise for a kiss.

"And yar just hard." His fingers slid into her already skewed panties. She rubbed against him with his rhythm, tutoring his touch with her own. When her gown strap slipped, he realized it was the first time he'd seen her bared breast. A lovely thing...

"Jude -"

"I'm close." Her thighs tightened alongside his. "If ya don't come with me, I'll blow ya."

But her words - and the bright, bubbly orgasm she experienced this way - were all he really needed to create another sticky hot mess in his pajama pants. Jude sighed, falling back on his chest. "I love tortoises," she said breathlessly.

"They're quite amazing." He slipped her gown back onto her shoulder. Couldn't resist one more squeeze. "Soft…"

"Tortoises?" She laughed.

"Oh. Tortoises." He looked at the television, hand still on her breast. "No, i suppose they're not terribly soft."

"Under that shell they are."

"Aren't we all?"

Jude turned in his arms. They situated themselves to lay on the couch together. His hands shifted now to her shapely rear. "Yeah. I guess we are." She sighed, content.

Valerie showed up around five with Jude's dress and a makeup case. "Sorry if the hem got a little wet, Judy," she apologized. "Damn leak. Everything got a little wet, I guess."

"That's okay, Val." Jude kissed her friend's cheek, taking the dress. "I got a little wet, too." She disappeared into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind her.

"That uh...that true, Nancy?" Val nudged a profusely blushing Timothy, chuckling.

"She's quite incorrigible."

"No shit." Val flopped onto the couch. "Oooh, komodo dragons!" She pointed at the television. "I've seen this one. Got coffee?"

He'd never had a friend before. There had been a brotherhood of sorts, in seminary. But he'd never felt a companionship like this: sipping coffee with Val, feet propped on coffee table, watching giant lizards mate. It was the oddest thing, if rather wonderful. She made him laugh with an impressive reptile impression. Made him blush with her constant innuendos. Made him smile with her simple warmth. Made him...a better person somehow. And this realization filled him with a strange new pride.

He was proud to call Valerie 'friend.' It felt good.

Their heads turned in tandem when Jude emerged. No. Not Jude. This was Judy emerging. In gathered blue velvet. Long sleeved but backless. Slits revealing hints of lace stocking top. Her curls piled high, a few framing her face or coiling down her back and eyes kohled and starry. "Ready?" She asked.

Val was staring at Timothy staring. "Ready for something," she muttered, rising. "I'm takin' yer bird ta work, Tim." She slapped his shoulder. "I'll bring her home in one piece."

"Of course you will." He was still staring, eyes raking. "Lovely shoes, Jude."

She laughed heartily, kicking out a dark blue heel. "Thanks far noticin'." She bent. Placed a kiss on his forehead. "Latah."

"See ya Monday mornin', Nancy!"

If Val hadn't been waiting at the door… He shook off the thoughts after they left. Put his energy into preparing a beef roast. Jude would be hungry later. He didn't think of the blue velvet. Of what it would have felt like beneath his hands. What it would have looked like on the bedroom floor. He didn't think of releasing curls in a lusty waterfall.

But his brain was a sinister traitor in league with his baser desires. And in the bathroom, it announced victory when it processed the lingerie hanging from the shower rail. Lacy black bra. Satin garter belt. He fingered an elastic suspender, pondering the mechanism. How the snap sort of slid from its snug fastening. _So that's how it works. Good to know._ He compartmentalized the knowledge away for later; it joined a mental file cabinet of other sultry gatherings.

He wiped the red lipstick off his forehead and sighed in the mirror.

He paced for a while. Read T.S. Eliot.

 _No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;_

 _Am an attendant lord, one that will do_

 _To swell a progress, start a scene or two,_

 _Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,_

 _Deferential, glad to be of use,_

 _Politic, cautious, and meticulous;_

 _Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;_

 _At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—_

 _Almost, at times, the Fool._

 _I grow old … I grow old …_

 _I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled._

 _Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?_

 _I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach._

 _I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each._

 _I do not think that they will sing to me._

He laid the book on his chest and stared at the ceiling. _Am I old?_ He wondered. His soul felt old. Old and new at once. Like it had never really known a life. _Am I J. Alfred Prufrock?_ Did he dare disturb the universe? His universe was already disturbed. The mermaid had already sung for him - numerous times now. And he was most certainly the Fool for her…

He closed his eyes, an image of Jude as a mermaid threatening to take him to the deep, to a dreamless sleep… He drifted.

The sound of a car door roused him and he sat up. They were back. He rubbed his eyes. It felt later, though... Footsteps rushed heavily up the steps and the knock on the door seemed urgent. But Jude had a key.

"Missy?" Concern marred his forehead. She wore her uniform - nursing whites. "What -"

"I'm on my way to the hospital. Got called in." She cut him off succinctly. "There's a fire at Hathaway's. I don't have any details, but I haven't heard from Val." His gut seized. A stone stopped his throat. "I gotta get ta work, but I figured you'd wanna know."

On autopilot, he grabbed his jacket from the hook. It was cold outside, but his fingers already felt numb. "I'm going to Hathaway's." His voice sounded flat to his own ears.

Missy nodded, biting her lip. "If you see Val…"

No more was needed. They rushed down the steps together. Missy sped away, and Timothy turned the Nash in the opposite direction. He didn't know the little car could move so fast.

There were lights outside the club and flames rising from the back of it. Big flames licking the sky like the prong's of Satan's pitchfork. Police cars. A firetruck. He could see even more lights further down the road, approaching. He parked opposite the club - out of the way. Leapt the ditch. There were two ambulances already and sirens signaling more. He weaved between panicked patrons and shocked onlookers. "Jude!" He shouted, not caring. "Valerie! Jude!" But there was no answer and no sign of either woman. Fear was a freezing grip on his heart.

The entrance was wide open and there were firemen clustered there. One of them grabbed him. "Ya can't go in there, buddy!" Smoke poured from the door.

"Is everyone out?" He asked, taking the man's arms.

"We're workin' on it. Go home."

"Jude. Judy!" He shouted into the door. "Is Judy out?"

"I dunno Judy, friend." The fireman tried again to calm him. "But we're gettin' everybody out. Go home, buddy! Yer in the way here!" A gentle shove.

"Tim?!"

He turned to the cry, frantic now. "Valerie!" A cop was struggling to hold the wiry woman by her arms. There were desperate tears on her smutty face.

"Judy's in there! And Johnny! They didn't make it to the side door!"

He'd gotten good at not thinking. The sirens, wailing, and shouting patrons drowned out sense. He ducked beneath the marshall's unsuspecting arms and simply slipped through the smoke…

It was toxic inside. Closer to Hell than Limbo. He squinted through the thick, rolling grey. The fire was loud - rumbling at the back. He could make out shadows of men bedecked in helmets, tanks and rescue equipment. Could vaguely make out their shouts. They were rushing _out_ of the building - sensible men.

"Jude!" He coughed, threw his jacket over his face. He couldn't see a damn thing. "Jude!"

Stumbled through spreading ash. Hotter than anything he'd ever felt. His lungs resisted breathing. An overturned table. He could make out the bar, now, grabbed hold of it and heard coughing bordering on retching and her unmistakable voice in a way he'd never heard it: straining, begging, pleading.

"Goddammit, Johnny! Come on! We gotta go! Get up!"

Timothy followed the voice. "Jude!" He shouted. A resounding crack from the back covered his call. The fire was spreading…

But there. Finally - after a scalding, blinding eternity. Just at the edge of the bar he saw her - golden hair piercing the veil of smoke. She knelt over a shapeless form, pulling, tugging. It was John Hathaway, prone on the floor.

"Jude!" His hands were on her and she was _alive_. She was terrified and desperate and aching but she was _alive_.

"Timothy!" As if there was no surprise at his presence. As if it was simply expected that he would be here. "Help me!"

He hauled John onto one shoulder, tucked Jude beneath the other. "Stay down!" His voice cracked. He tried to keep them beneath the smoke. A red light blinking was the only beckon - the only guide to the side exit.

John was heavy and unconscious. Timothy would never have imagined the strength in himself to carry the man, but he did. Through the smoke, eyes stinging. He stumbled over a toppled stool, losing his grip. He felt Jude grab his arm, pulling. "Go!" He shoved her away, toward the open door. "Go, Jude!"

"No!" She was coughing pitifully. "Come on! We're almost there!" She helped him, throwing John's other arm over her own shoulder.

They staggered like beggars until the lack of oxygen took them to the threshold - and then there were arms reaching. Hands taking his. Hands grappling for hers. White, angelic hands attached to a black-clad form and they felt weightless…

When they burst through the door - unseen hands now shoving - an ambulance driver spotted them. "Over here!" The man shouted. "We got more over here!"

Lights swirled. Smoke poured. He was vaguely aware of Jude slipping away from him. Of John being lifted onto a gurney. Through coughing, he managed to drink the water a rescue worker shoved in his face. "Timothy!"

"Val."

His friend helped him to his feet. His head rolled and for a second, he saw the stars in the clear sky twinkling above him and thought - quite madly - that they were simply beautiful. Val helped him to the back of an ambulance. His vision was blurry from smoke - eyes dried - but his hand encountered velvet and he pulled her against him. "Jude…"

She was bent, coughing. Dry heaved a few times. Her shaking hand could barely hold the water cup. She couldn't speak.

"Move, buddy!" He was pulled from her. "We gotta get these two to the hospital!" They were bundling her onto a cot, loading her into the ambulance. He caught a glimpse of Hathaway already inside.

"Timothy." She croaked, reaching for him.

Valerie pulled him, too. "Come on! We'll follow! Let 'em go, Tim."

"I'm coming, Jude." He promised, managing to brush her fingers with his own. "I'll be there!"

They weaved again through the crowd. He could count six ambulances now. Three fire trucks. Couldn't count the police cars. A cop directed traffic from the club, keeping the road open for emergency crews.

They were stuck - idle for a moment - on the side of the road and he could finally think again. "What the hell happened?"

Valerie was in shock, trembling on the seat beside him. "I don't even know." The words rushed. "Judy was singing. We started to smell smoke. I opened the stage door and…" Her head fell in her hands. "Shit! There was fucking fire everywhere! I slammed the door and started yelling 'call the fire department!' Johnny got on the horn and people were just runnin' like animals and I couldn't find Judy and I knew we had ta get the emergency exit open but it was fuckin' stuck. I slammed into it and people were just pressed up against me and I fell out when it opened and there was this stampede! I couldn't get back in! I ran round ta the front but it was the same thing! Somebody flagged down a cop and they started directin' people out but the cars got ta be a cluster fuck and -" Suddenly she stopped, tears streaming down her face. "How the fuck did you get here? How did you know?"

He managed to pull onto the highway - a tight u-turn. He went the way he'd seen Missy go. "Missy stopped by the house. She was called into the hospital."

"Missy…" She sobbed harder. "She must be worried sick!"

"We'll see her soon enough." He drove fast and soon caught up to an ambulance ahead. He wondered if it was Jude's.

"Ya saved 'em, Tim." Val's hand squeezed his arm. "Judy and Johnny. You saved 'em when everybody else gave up and left 'em fer dead in there. Yer a goddamn hero!"

But he didn't feel that way. He simply felt relief. Relief that it was over. Relief that he'd found her and she was _alive_ and they were on their way to the hospital and he would see her again and she would be _alive_ and he would hold her again and kiss her again and have her in his life and whatever the hell that life was didn't matter because Jude was _alive_ …

And he _loved_ her. And he needed to tell her.

Because no fire could compete with hers.

The hospital emergency room was in chaos. Doctors and nurses sprinted to and fro, in the weeds with patients still in their club wear. Fortunately, there were no severe injuries. Some minor smoke inhalation. A few bumps and bruises from the stampede. Most people were being released after quick checks and bandage applications. But this was not the case with Jude or Johnny.

He caught a glimpse of Jude being led into the bustling exam room. His first instinct was to run after her, but Val took hold of his elbow. "Let 'em check her, Tim." She was glancing over heads, looking for Missy. "I imagine Missy's worried. I wasn't able ta call her."

"I'm certain she's busy." Timothy chewed his lip. He was worried, too.

"Did Johnny seem okay? When ya found him?"

Honestly, no. But Timothy was certainly not a physician, and he was not going to add to Val's concern. "I believe he was exhausted."

"Was he conscious, Tim?"

"In and out."

"Fuck." She ran a hand through her hair. "Johnny's heart is already bad. He can't take much of this."

"Jude was with him. She was trying to help him stand."

"Judy loves him like a dad." Val was still looking about. "She'd be devastated if anything happened to him."

"He'll be fine, Val." He touched her shoulder. "After all, he'll have Missy to care for him."

Valerie looked at him. Smiled through her fear. "Tim. Can we...can we hug?"

For some reason, laughter bubbled in his chest. Was he that awkward? He slid an arm around the shorter woman, pulled her close. "I may not smell my best."

Val was less shy in her approach. Squeezed him tightly around the waist. "Yeah. You smell kind of like a wood stove."

"I feel like I was in a wood stove."

Laughter bubbled in Val, too. It was a reaction to the stress, he knew. A sort of vent for emotions that lacked any other vehicle. But it felt good, and they laughed until they cried, just hugging in the middle of madness.

"Val! Baby!" Missy had spotted her lover and rushed toward her. "God, I was so scared." Timothy surrendered his hug to Missy. "Are you okay, darlin'?" Missy studied Val closely, looking for damage.

"I'm fine." Val shrugged off the concern. "How's Johnny? How's Judy? Have you seen 'em?"

Missy's forehead creased. "Johnny...was conscious when he came in. He asked about Judy. And he asked for a piece of paper and a pen. But now he's...in a coma." Val gasped, but Missy quickly reassured her. "That's good though, honey! It's just his body healing itself. We put him on a respirator to clear his lungs and help him breathe. He'll be fine. It just takes some time." She looked at Timothy. "I hear you and Judy were the heroes of the night. Pullin' John out like that. It was real brave."

"Have you seen her? Jude?" He ignored the hero comment. He still didn't feel like much of one.

"C'mere." Missy gestured. "I'll take ya'll to her." They followed Missy through the now thinning throng. "We're gonna keep her for a while. Just ta make sure she doesn't have any complications from smoke inhalation. She's on oxygen right now. Stubborn ass…" In a quieter part of the hospital, she pushed open a thick wooden door.

"Jude!" He rushed to the bed, pushing past Missy and Val, and Jude stood to meet him.

"Timothy." Her voice was raspy. Injured. She threw her arms around him. The oxygen mask tumbled to the floor and Missy retrieved it.

"Judy. I know you're happy to see each other and all, but you gotta wear this, sweetie." Missy's bedside manner was firm but kind. Timothy was pleased to see Jude smile at her. "And none of this arguin,' kay? Here. Sit down, now." She helped settle Jude on the bed again, fitting the mask once more.

Jude rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Missy. I told ya. Val, don't I look fine?" She adjusted her simple cotton hospital gown and robe.

Val chuckled, sitting on the edge of her bed. "No doubt you're fine, Judy. But they gotta be sure yer lungs are good ta go."

"I want a cigarette."

Missy handed her a plastic cup. "Well, for now, you're gettin' this water and this pill. For yer throat. It'll make ya sleepy." She watched Jude grudgingly swallow the pill. "And that's good. Cuz that means you'll shut the hell up."

"The nurses here are sadists." Jude looked at Timothy. "Get me out."

He sat, as well. "We shall stay, I think." Patted her hand. "Until you have a clean bill of health."

Jude handed the cup back to Missy. "Thank you." When Missy reached for it, Jude caught hold of her hand. "For everything, Missy. Thank you."

"Yep. That medicine's workin' already." Missy chuckled, then sobered. "Judy...I'm sorry."

"Shut up." Jude waved off any apologies. "Bring me more of those pills that make me like people."

Missy poked Timothy's shoulder. "That's yours." She pointed at Judy. He nodded. "You can stay here with her, if you like. I gotta go make my rounds. I'll come back when she's released. Bring all the papers. Ya'll should get some rest while you can."

Val left with Missy, bidding her friends good-night. In the dim quiet, Timothy sighed deeply. He felt like it was the first real breath he'd taken in hours. Jude reached for his hand. "Hey." She shook his fingers. "You okay?" The mask muffled her words.

That laughter returned. Timothy rubbed his face roughly. " _I'm_ fine, Jude. You…" He looked at her askance. "I was so afraid."

"You came far me." She tugged the hand she held, encouraging him to settle beside her on the bed. He wrapped an arm around her.

"Of course I came for you." He kicked his shoes over the edge of the bed.

"Ya know? When I heard yar voice, when I saw yar face, I knew that we would be okay. I knew you'd get us out of there - me and Johnny. It's like I already thought of you as my savior."

"Hardly a savior."

"Then why? Why would you run into a burning building and -"

"I love you, Jude."

She quieted. Didn't reply. A ticking could be heard from the little clock by the window. Suddenly, she gathered the blanket up over her legs, over him. "I'm tired." She adjusted the mask on her face. Let him pull her to his chest.

"Sleep." He instructed.

She did. And after a few minutes listening to her breathe clearly and deeply, he slept, too.


	6. Disturbing the Universe

_**I deeply apologize for the long delay on this chapter. I tried to make it worth the wait. The only song today is Stir It Up - Bob Marley and the Wailers. Enjoy!**_

Sunday morning, they arrived home early. Around six am. Having slept for some time at the hospital, neither Timothy nor Jude was particularly tired. So they did what people do for comfort: they ate. Jude made scones, much to her British cohort's delight, while Timothy was on egg and bacon detail.

At the table, they talked quietly. Jude was reserved, and Timothy noticed. "You're worried for John."

"Of course I am."

"Missy seemed confident that his coma is healthy. I believe he'll be fine."

"I appreciate your positivity."

"But you do not share it."

Jude toyed with her coffee cup. "I thought he was dead last night, honestly. When I couldn't get him to stand...I thought he was already gone."

"And yet you were still determined to remove him from the building. Why?"

She shrugged. "I guess I still had some kind of hope."

"And your hope was not unfounded." He smiled. "Jude. You saved him. Your love and your hope -"

"You saved us." She interrupted calmly. "Timothy. You saved my life. And Johnny's."

"I have faith you would have managed. Even had I not arrived. Jude, you're strong. Stronger than I am. And brave."

"You were brave." She insisted. "Charging in there like a crazy person."

"Not bravery. I was…" He took a deep breath, thinking. "I was terrified. Terrified that I would lose you. And we've come so far. And I…"

"You love me? Like you said in the hospital?"

"Is that so unbelievable?" He asked, hands spread.

She shook her head, looking away from him. Her finger toyed with her lip. "It's just…"

"Just what?" Timothy stood. He was frustrated, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

"It's surreal. Don't you see that?"

"What?" He began washing dishes, needing something - anything - to occupy.

"We're dead!" She snapped. "Two wandering souls locked in fucking Purgatory, Timothy! Two people who couldn't have been more different - more distant in life. After everything we went through togethah - everything you put me through - and I'm supposed to believe so simply that you just fell in love with me here? Now?" She laughed wryly. "That yar here ta save our souls with unconditional love. When you found it so easy ta leave me far dead in life."

"Where is this coming from?" He asked calmly, toweling his hands. "Jude. These last days with you have been happy for me. Happier than I ever was in life. I cannot lie about love with no concept of love to base lies on. I only know what I feel." He leaned against the sink, now animated in his disbelief. "For God's sake...we've been...intimate together! I have touched you in ways that I only ever _imagined_ touching a woman before! I had - I put my fingers inside you! Do you know what that means to me?"

"Oh, you and how many othah men?" She stood, paced in the living room. Lit a cigarette. Ignored his crushed expression. Staring out the window - in a soot-stained velvet dress - she smoked and chewed her lip.

Timothy thought for a while. He tried to stifle the hurt he felt at her words. Tried to process. "Why would you say that?" He asked, almost to himself. His forehead creased. "Jude."

"What?" She didn't look at him.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"Afraid?" She scoffed. Flicked her cigarette butt into the wood stove with startling accuracy."Nothin' scares me anymore, Timothy."

"I think love does." He walked toward her, now up for a challenge. Perhaps two weeks ago he would have let her win. Would have let her shut him down with this self-deprecation. "I think it's ironic that you wanted love so badly in life, but now are too afraid of it to -"

"Love never did me any fuckin' favahs!" Jude spun on him. "It's lies! Lies wrapped in lust! It blinds you, makes you weak. Makes you stupid. Believe me - I know. Even after my would-be husband ruined me and any dreams I had of a happy family, after all the men in all the bars in all the seedy motel beds and their empty, drunken promises, after all that - I _still_ fell in love with you! Stupidly. Blindly. Weakly." She punctuated each word with a poke to his chest, gasping when he grasped her wrist.

"I regret with every fiber of my being that I broke you, Jude. That I am the man who left you so bitter and angry and distrustful. That I was the last to betray you. But look at me now! I am as broken as you were then! And it is us now - the broken souls we are now - who can heal each other!" She started to pull away from him and he took her other arm. "I know that you are terrified to lose Johnny. That he is like a father to you. And that once again something good in your life - or your afterlife - will be taken away by forces beyond your control because you are _not_ a woman who loses control. But _I_ am a constant in this place. I am _your_ constant, as I should have been in life. I don't know how to show you that." He let his hands fall from her arms. Stood bare before her, eyes wet and throat sore with feeling.

She stared at him - at his face, specifically. She studied his eyes closely, as if she could dissect him through his irises. And perhaps she could. Her lip trembled. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?"

"Far not believing you. Far not trusting you." She shook her head. Her curls smelled of smoke. "I can't. Not yet. Maybe not evah."

"I have to believe that you will come to see what I am. What I've become. Otherwise…" He shrugged. "I have no reason to continue in this place. And I don't know what becomes of us after that."

She looked down, stared at his ashy shoes, at her own bare toes curling against the oak floor. "Hold me."

"Jude." He pulled her against him, nose in her smoky curls.

"Harder." She murmured against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist. He squeezed her until he thought he might crack her spine in two. "Don't give up on me."

"I can't." Her skin was cool beneath his hands. He caressed her for the simple comfort of the contact. "I can't do this without you, Jude. I already made that mistake once."

"I don't know why I said those things earlier." Her tears were wetting his shirt. "I didn't mean those things."

"I know that."

"I've nevah felt this way."

"Neither have I."

"It's fucking scary."

"Trust me. I know."

"I'm gonna do bettah."

"You're doing fine, Jude."

"I smell like a charcoal grill."

"That might be me." He chuckled. "Shall I draw you a bath?" Surreal took over. He felt her mood lighten. Felt her fingers shift their desperate cling.

"What about you?"

"I'll shower when you're done."

She pulled away, lip in teeth. "Shower with me."

"Um…"

"You can wash my back." She started toward the bedroom.

"Um…"

In the doorway, she turned. "Who's scared _now_?"

"I'm not scared!" He shouted after her. "I'm completely paralyzed with fear," he added in a whisper to himself. But he followed her, brow heavy with worry.

In the tiny bathroom, the shower was running. Jude was peeling velvet dress from her body. Timothy leaned in the door jamb, watching her. She wore very little beneath the velvet. Her stockings had been ruined - discarded at the hospital. Pale pink satin panties shimmered as they slipped down her legs.

It was the most of her creamy skin he'd seen. _All_ of her creamy skin. The curves revealed in their fullness. He looked at the ceiling, praying for strength. The shower curtain rings sang against the rod. "You comin'?"

He looked to see her stepping into the clawfoot, one leg already curved over the rim. Full breasts with perky peaks. A soft, rounded belly. She was the most intoxicating combination of supple and solid. His mouth went dry. She smiled softly. This was hardly seductress Jude. No Eve offering apples. She was offering something much more vital: vulnerability. He recognized the gesture and nodded; he would offer his own. His fingers shook on his shirt buttons, and Jude stepped under the spray to let him undress. "Hey, grab another washcloth, will ya?"

Naked, fingers numb, he did as she bade and stepped into the tub behind her. He tugged the shower curtain closed. The steamy water had pinkened Jude's back and plump buttocks. Her golden hair was darker when wet, and heavier. She flipped it over her shoulders and it hung to nearly the middle of her back. She picked up the shampoo from the wire rack across the tub and he moved. "May I?"

She passed him the shampoo, blowing water from her lips. "Thanks."

He'd never even remotely imagined showering with another person, much less this person. Never could have conceived the intimacy in washing a woman's hair; the feel of her hot scalp beneath his fingers, of tangles forming despite his best efforts to keep neat strokes. He stepped closer to her when she rinsed - had to. And Jude sighed pleasure during conditioning. His fingers could slip more easily through the long locks this way. She went lax and leaned back against him. "Feels nice," she murmured, eyes closed.

There were drops of water on her eyelashes. A sensual smile on her face. After this rinse, she turned him. "Here. Feel." She was absolutely right: it felt amazing. Soon, he was lax himself, and grinning under her aggressive head scratch. She chuckled. "Told ya."

"This is quite nice." He rinsed, watching her soap up a washcloth. When she was done, he took it, gestured for her to turn. "Convenient."

"I agree." He washed her back while she held her hair. Suds made a tantalizing sort of veil that streaked when she moved. He hesitated once her back was done, but she encouraged his explorations, moving his hand and the cloth around her waist.

Closer now, her wet skin stroked his semi-erect cock. He was surprised he wasn't hard as a rock, but suspected this particular activity - in this particular moment - engendered more than lust for both of them, as if the act of washing each other clean physically was tantamount to washing each other clean spiritually.

Until Jude turned him to wash his back. "I think yar the most beautiful man I've evah seen," she murmured against his ear. "I always did think that."

"Jude…" His head rolled on his shoulder when she stroked his hardness from behind. He twisted, took her head in his hands. "You are the beauty here. I once resented you for it."

She kissed him gently, water sneaking into their mouths. "Why?"

She stroked him still, slowly. He groaned, closed his eyes, forehead pressed to hers. "I wanted you." The confession came so easily now, her hand, her closeness, the water, the warmth - these things encouraging his truth to spill. "I _blamed_ you. I thought you made me impure for my own thoughts, for my own failings. I blamed you for the guilt, Jude, for the shame when I imagined you the ways I imagined you -"

She cut him off with a kiss, open-mouthed and searching. "How did you imagine me, Timothy? You didn't tell me."

"I - I can't!" He gasped on a sweet twist.

"You imagined me naked?"

"Yes, Jude!"

"You imagined fucking me?"

"Yes," he whined.

"You imagined me on my back beneath you?"

"Jude…"

"Did you evah imagine me like this?" And so swiftly - unexpectedly - she was on her knees before him and his cock was in her mouth.

"Ah!" He shouted, grasping the shower pipe and her shoulder to steady himself. "God! Jude! Ugh!"

"Hmmmmmm?"

Her acknowledgment of his apostrophe vibrated up the length of his shaft and teased his bollocks. He'd never felt more powerless, more pleasure - despite all the pleasure he'd already learned with her. This surrender - being so unprotected, so unguarded in her diabolical mouth - unmanned him. His eyes rolled in his head and his tongue loosed, enslaved by her brilliant seduction. "I never knew it would be so…" He hissed when he felt the back of her throat. "Jude, my Jude! How can you - ah!" His hand slid to her head, cradled her jaw. He could feel her muscles working his length. Her tongue swirled while she sucked - some dark, salacious, succubus magic. He bit his lip as the pleasure caught up - felt the release building. A strange panic mixed with the promise. Should he come in her mouth? Was that acceptable? Rude? He couldn't fathom the repercussions behind a mouth full of the sticky essence he'd cleaned a few days earlier. Best to warn her. His fingers tightened on her jaw. "Jude." A groan. "Jude, please. I think -"

He looked down at her and that was a mistake. Her brown eyes - big with desire - caught his and he saw her answer: acceptance. And his weakness was complete. Nearly bent double, he grabbed the shower pipe with both hands. " _Fuuuuck_ ," he groaned, unloading hot seed and sin down her throat.

He panted through the process. Completely shattered. His knees trembled. And how did she stand so smoothly when _her_ knees were one with the tub bottom for so long. She slipped slickly between his still braced arms. "Alright?" She asked, stroking his cheeks.

"Jude." He wrapped her in his shaking arms.

"Timothy." She made him meet her eyes. "Those things you imagined? They nevah made you a bad person. They made you a human. A man. And there's something else I want you ta remembah, kay?"

"What?"

"If you thought I was powerless when you imagined me on my knees, think about what just happened. And realize that _I_ was the one will _all_ the power. Yeah?" He nodded, nuzzling her, a very satisfied smile spreading across his face.

They dried each other, chuckling softly and kissing, beginning to shiver in the chill. A drowsiness had settled. Timothy noticed Jude's eyes growing heavy. "A nap." He whispered in her ear.

"Mmmm. Sounds nice." She yelped a little when he lifted her bridal style, oophed when he dropped her on the bed. "Where are you going?"

"To make a fire."

"Naked?!"

He turned in the doorway. "I'm cold!" She fell into the pillows laughing.

In fact, they stayed naked. Curled into the piled blankets and spooned together. Timothy's finger's caressed her creased forehead. "Stop worrying."

"I'm tryin'."

"He'll be fine."

"I know." She was still worrying.

He kissed the back of her neck. "Would you like me to touch you?"

She snickered. "Is that your way of offering me a return orgasm?"

"Yes?" He smiled at her gleaning.

She turned in his arms. "I'd like you to hold me. While I sleep. I sleep bettah that way." So he held her. And they slept.

In fact, they slept through the night. The exhaustion and stress wiped them, and oblivion recharged them. Timothy woke before Jude. Still nude, she was curled against his side like a kitten. He kissed her head and dressed in the misty morning dark, stoked the fire in the living room, and started another breakfast.

Jude shuffled in wearing...the bedding. His brows rose, and he could already see morning Jude emerging. "Morning," he greeted pleasantly.

Too pleasantly. "Fuckin' cold," she groused.

"Indeed." He set the percolator going.

"Fuckin' early."

"Also that." He set her cup before her, smiling at her big yawn. "Valerie will be by to collect me soon, I imagine. For...work."

"Workin' man." Jude flicked at her empty cup. "What am I supposed ta do all day while yar gone?"

He shrugged, considering several sausages. "You could go out if you like. You'll have the car."

"I wonder if anything was salvageable from the back of the club." She thought. "My sewing machine was there."

"You sew?"

"Yeah. I made most of my own dresses."

"Quite talented."

"I could take in some sewing if I can set it up somewhere. Maybe by the window?" She cleared her throat. "I suppose I'll be outta the singin' business for a while."

"Jude." He hesitated. "Don't feel that you have to work. We shall make ends meet."

" _You're_ goin' ta work."

"To help Valerie, mainly."

"I can't feel useless."

"You're hardly useless."

She smirked. "Well. I can't blow ya like that _every_ day. It's hell on my knees."

He flushed furiously. "You know that's not what I meant!"

Amid her laughing, bedding slipped from a creamy shoulder. "Calm down! I was bein' funny."

"It isn't funny." He insisted, withholding a grin. "The health of your knees is a very serious matter and I hold it in constant consideration."

"You kill me. Is that coffee ready?"

He poured for both of them and flipped sausages. They ate ravenously having slept through dinner, and after toast, Jude lit a cigarette. "Yar thinkin' about somethin'."

"How do you know that?" But he _was_ thinking about something.

"You have a certain face when yar thinkin'."

"What face?"

She made the face. Furrowed her brow. Tightened her lips. Slight frown. "Kinda like that. But with a British accent."

"Ridiculous."

"Yeah, it is." She lit a cigarette for him, too. "So what's on yar mind?"

"I suppose…" But he shook his head. "Nothing. Well, nothing that can't be talked about later."

"I'm here." She shrugged, turned toward a noise on the front porch. "And so is Val."

"Oh!" Timothy opened the door to allow in their friend. "Good morning."

"It's a bitch of a morning." Valerie flicked at her stocking cap. "Fuckin' snow flurry and shit." She noticed Jude lounging at the table and startled a bit. "Um. Am I interruptin' something?"

"Yep." Jude answered.

"No." Timothy answered at the same time, shot Jude a pointed look.

Valerie chuckled. "I'll have to introduce 'eat breakfast naked' over at mine and Missy's place next."

"It's how we roll," Jude commented.

"It is _not_ how we roll." Timothy argued.

"Tim." Val slapped his arm. "Let her have this one."

"Any word on Johnny?" Jude asked, rising.

Val shook her head sadly. "Still out like a light. Missy says he's on a respirator, but that's just fer his lungs. She seems pretty positive." She didn't miss the look that flicked between Jude and Timothy. "I am, too. I think he's gonna be fine." Jude nodded, trying to convince herself the same. "I'm gonna stop by the club today, too. After Ms. Lundt's place. Just check things out."

"Will ya check on my sewing machine?" Jude asked.

"Will do." Val winked at her. "Tim. Get yer coat. It's colder than a witch's titty in a brass bra out there. You got a lunch packed?"

"Ah. No." He hadn't thought of that. Wondering at the temperature of witches' titties, he watched Jude throw together a cold cut sandwich for him.

"Here." She wrapped it neatly in wax paper and tossed it in a bag. She poured the last of their coffee into a thermos. Smooched his cheek dramatically. "Have a good day at work, honey." Valerie leaned in for a kiss, too. "You get the fuck out," Jude laughed, shoving her.

"I'll bring him home safe and sound, Judy."

"Just don't let him lose any fingahs." She bundled up in the doorway as they left. "I kinda enjoy those."

He was still blushing profusely when he settled into Valerie's truck. She grinned at his discomfort. "You two seem ta be...gettin' along alright."

"We are adjusting."

"Does she uh - eat breakfast in the bed sheets every morning?"

"No." He vacillated. "We um...just this morning."

"You um _what_?" Val leaned toward him, eyes on the road. Fine pockets of snow occasionally spiraled outside the window.

"We fell asleep that way last night." He felt comfortable telling Val this. In fact, it seemed almost natural.

"You mean naked? Both of ya?!"

"We were quite exhausted."

"Too exhausted ta put on pajamas or anything." She shook her head, wonder pinching her face. "You and Judy um...sleepin' together?"

"Yes." When she nearly swerved off the road, he caught hold of the steering wheel. " _Just_ sleeping together!"

"But...naked."

" was after our shower and -"

"Ya showered _together?"_ Valerie was far too delighted by this.

He cleared his throat. Looked out the window again. This country part of the road was pretty in the gray winter ambiance. "We've...experimented, I suppose."

"Experimented."

"There's been some kissing."

"Okaaaay." Val nodded.

"And some...touching."

"You mean makin' out!"

"I suppose that's the current popular terminology, yes."

The brunette laughed richly, then sobered. "Tim. Can I ask ya a real personal question?"

He had a feeling he knew where this was headed. Not that he minded. He'd rather wanted to talk to someone about this, anyway. Not Jude. Someone...unbiased. Someone...Valerie-ish. Like Valerie. His friend. "What?"

"Are you um...ya know. A virgin?"

The question was simple. The answer was more difficult than it should have been. But he opted to avoid confusion. "Yes." It was nearly true. He'd ceased to count the encounter with the demon inside Eunice as a loss of virtue. It had been _taken_ , after all. Not given.

"I thought so."

"Am I that painfully ignorant?"

"No!" She turned down a long dirt drive. Felled trees and stumps lined the landscape. "I just figured since you'd been a priest and all. Made sense."

"I feel painfully ignorant."

"But you said you two were experimenting."

"She tends to take the lead."

A snort. "Well, that's Judy. It's alright though, right?" Val shrugged. "I mean - is she...pressurin' ya?"

"No! No." He shook his head. "She's quite patient. She knows. I think she's waiting for me to be ready."

"Are ya ready?"

"Yes."

She gave him a surprised glance - a doubtful one - parking the truck within a copse of birch and pine trees. "Well, what's the problem, then?"

He chewed his lip, uncertain. "Yesterday morning...Jude um...got on her knees in the shower and um…" He blushed. Made an airy gesture.

Val tried not to grin. She failed. "Got yer first b.j. Nancy?!" She slapped his shoulder. "Good for you!"

He rubbed his face hard. "Oh, God," he moaned, embarrassed.

"How was it?"

He'd wanted to talk about this, hadn't he? Rolling his eyes, he regretted. "It was...remarkable."

"D'you return the favor?"

He shook his head. "I don't know how." The crux of the situation.

"Oohhh!" Val breathed. "I see." She reached into the floorboard beneath his legs. "You've come to the right person, Tim." Began rifling through a tin lunch box. "Always come to a lesbian for advice on eating pussy."

"Oh, God," he moaned again.

"No, seriously!" She poked him, brandishing a peach. "Listen. Yer gonna blow her damn mind." She had pulled a little pen knife from her pocket. Began carving her peach as she talked. "So. This is a little hothouse peach, but it'll do. How well do ya know yer anatomy, Nancy?"

"We studied anatomy in seminary."

"Ya make good grades?"

"I was an excellent student."

"Perfect." She studied her fruit. "How much do you remember about the lady parts?"

"Sadly not a great deal."

"Not a problem." She flipped the peach. "Ta da!"

"Wow." He stared at the peach, now a flagrant detailed representation of the innermost vaginal mysteries. "That is...very impressive, Valerie."

"Yeah. I got lots of experience. Here." He took the peach. "You like peaches okay?"

He couldn't avoid going back to Eliot in his mind: the overwhelming questions. Would he dare to eat the peach? Could he disturb the universe? "I do."

"Good. Cuz yer gonna get reeeaaall intimate with this one." Her hand slid into his space. "See these kinda fluffy flappy strips here?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Here's what's great about those…"

Their conversation was animated. Thoroughly transparent. Timothy felt less and less embarrassed, even when he wrapped his lips around a carved fruit clitoris. Valerie was a thorough and forgiving tutor, eager to see him do well. She rewarded him with praise and corrected him by slapping the back of his head. By the end of his lesson, he felt nearly exhausted.

"Ya did a good job, Tim."

"Thank you?" His lips were numb and his tongue might have had a cramp in it.

"Feelin' better?"

"Yes." He was feeling better. More confident now even if he had developed lockjaw. "Not as difficult as I feared."

"Well." Valerie gathered her coat, preparing for work. "Peaches don't shove themselves in yer face and scalp ya with their talon-like fingernails."

Timothy paused outside the truck, a new fret dawning. "Does that...does that happen?"

Valerie winked, handed him an axe across the truck bed. "If yer doin' it right."

The new fret birthed more frets. He fretted as they chopped the mostly thin birches together, felling several clusters in a few hours. It was hard work. He was developing his first painful calluses. But even amid chopping and hauling and stacking and clearing, he was fretting. During a coffee break on smooth stumps, he voiced the frets. "It doesn't um...taste like peaches, does it?"

"No!" Val looked at him for the first time like he might be an idiot. "Women aren't fruit-flavored, Tim. It's pussy, not a pack of fuckin' gum."

"I've never done this!" He exclaimed. "And I also don't chew gum."

"Christ on crutches." Valerie shook her head. "Yer just a new human bein', Tim." She punched his shoulder. "I love ya, though." He wondered at that. If it was true. If Valerie could truly love him. Not in any questionable sense, of course. But the kinship he felt with her was rather familial. Perhaps this is what it would have been like to have a sister. An older one. Who slapped and punched and gave sometimes good advice. Probably so. He watched her long face go pensive. "Women taste different, too." A shrug. A wistful smile. "Some are kinda sweet. Some are kinda bitter. Some taste like lickin' a hot iron kinda."

He was definitely curious. Couldn't imagine what Jude's flavor might be. "What does Missy taste like?"

"That's personal, Tim."

"Oh."

"Nah, I'm kiddin'." Another punch. "She tastes...I dunno...a little tart and a little sweet at the same time. Says it's cuz of all the sweet tea she drinks. But that might be crazy talk because she tells me I taste like oranges and I _hate_ oranges."

"Hm." He sipped coffee, thinking.

"I always kinda bet Judy would taste like a solid old fashioned. Ya know? Top shelf shit. Smoky bourbon and a little cherry in there and a little lemon wedge thrown in." She suddenly looked at him, a hand up in gesture of surrender. "Not that I thought about eatin' yer bird out, Tim. Because honestly it wasn't ever like that between me and Judy. Swear it."

"Of course not." He smiled. "But...I appreciate the reassurance."

"I just have this weird habit of thinking about what every woman I meet might taste like."

"That is...an odd habit."

"Welp." An arm slap this time. "You'd know a lot about odd habits!"

"Ooohhhh," Timothy groaned, laughing. His head fell into his hands. "That's...that's good, Val." Suddenly, he glanced up, a realization dawning heavily. "Wait. I've never had an old fashioned, either."

"Why am I not fuckin' surprised, Nancy?"

The work may have been hard, but Val made it enjoyable. And working together, they managed to clear more in one day than Val had previously cleared on her own in a week. They finished their day by loading the back of her truck with hardwood, chopped and ready for stacking. Whatever they didn't use, Val would sell. "I'll split the profits with ya, Tim." She explained. "And whatever Ms. Lundt pays me on Wednesday. You should come with me, too! I bet she'd be tickled pink to see her favorite customer helping me out on her land."

He was tempted to tell Val to keep the money. He didn't need it, after all. But he needed to be viewed as normally as possible, and obviously Jude could use the money, too. He wondered why he'd been given a magical coffee can while she seemed forced to make her own way here. He doubted it had anything to do with redemption. Probably more a solution for his incalculable ineptitude in basic life. He was certain he could find a use for the money, after all.

On the way back to Timothy's house - tired and dirty - they stopped at Hathaway's. A sad, regrettable stop. They stood on the soot-stained gravel, scuffing feet and frowning. "I don't suppose Jude's sewing machine is salvageable from that." Timothy nodded to the burned out husk of Hathaway's back room.

"Nah." Val agreed. "But ya know...it's not completely destroyed. I mean, the bar itself is in pretty good shape."

"I suppose so."

They stared at the club for a while longer, ideas seeming to form in Val's head before she took a deep, steadying breath. "Well. Come on, Nancy. I'll get ya on home to yer bird."

Back at the little white house, they unloaded firewood and stacked it on the back porch. Jude popped out to offer coffee, but Val refused. She was eager to spend some time with Missy. As soon as Jude disappeared back in the house, Val punched Timothy's shoulder. "Ow!" He rubbed at the injury.

"You gonna practice yer new skill set tonight?"

A furious flush. "I can't just ask her if I can practice...oral sex!" He hissed.

"Why not?" Val shrugged. "Did she ask if she could suck yer dick?"

"Well...no." He scowled. "She just sort of...did it."

"Well, there ya go. Just sort of do it." She slapped his face playfully with a glove before stowing it in her pocket. "I'll see ya tomorrow morning and I expect a full report, including a flavor list."

As if on cue, the back door opened and Jude appeared, sweater wrapped tight around her frame. "Dinnah's ready," she announced.

"I'll be right there!" Timothy smiled at her as innocently as possible. She gave him an odd look before slipping back inside.

"You oughta go in and uh - eat somethin'." Val nudged him.

"Val," he groaned.

"Nancy," she groaned back, slipping around the corner of the house. "Hey." Her head appeared for just a second. "I'll see ya tomorrow. Have a nice dinner."

"Good night, Val!" He said loudly.

"Yeah. Hope yours is peachy, too, Tim!" She laughed all the way to her truck and Timothy sighed heavily.

He came in through the back door, stopping to watch Jude at the stove. Her skirt swayed beneath her knees as she hummed along to the stereo, stirring a pot of pasta. She was barefoot. Timothy grinned as he approached her.

 _Stir it up, little darlin', stir it up. Come on, baby_

 _Come on and stir it up, little darlin', stir it up. O-oh!_

 _It's been a long, long time, yeah! (Stir it, stir it, stir it together)_

 _Since I've got you on my mind (oh-oh-oh-oh) Oh-oh!_

 _Now you are here (stir it, stir it, stir it together), I said_

 _It's so clear_

 _To see what we could do, baby, (oh-oh-oh-oh)_

 _Just me and you_

"I could make some very misogynistic jokes right now." He said softly, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"And I could smack the shit out of you with this hot, wooden spoon." She chuckled.

"Sounds fun."

"I'm amenable to experimentation latah." She shrugged. "Set the table."

They ate spaghetti, Timothy seeming more and more distracted the entire time. "This is delicious, Jude. As always."

"It should be. I cooked this sauce all day." Breaking a piece of bread, she broached his state. "You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Seem a little off."

"No! Not at all."

"Hm." She poured him more tea. "How was work?"

"Exhausting." He held up his palms to her. "Are these blisters?"

Jude smiled kindly. "Yeah. Those are gonna hurt. I'll wrap 'em far ya after dessert."

"Dessert?"

"I made a peach pie. It's still in the oven. Nice and warm."

"Peach pie," he repeated, nodding. "That - that sounds delightful." Tried to still his knee from shaking nervously.

Gathering their plates, she tried again. "You sure yar alright? Yar actin' like a cat in a room full of rockin' chairs."

"I'm quite alright." He smiled up at her.

"Here." She leaned against the table beside him, gesturing to his hands. "Let me take a look at those blisters."

"I think they'll be fine." But he let her cradle each hand anyway. Her attention was comfort. She warmed him. He kept thinking about old fashioneds.

"Yeah, they aren't too bad. Good thing you wore gloves." She made to move. "I'll get that pie."

"Jude." He blocked her with an arm across the table.

"Hm?"

"I don't want pie. Not...not right now."

"Oh." She seemed slightly disappointed. Definitely flummoxed. "Well. You don't have to - what are you doing?" He slid his chair back just enough to adjust her, then his hands were sliding beneath her skirt. "Um. Timothy?" She was biting her lip.

She wore no stockings. Her legs were pure, soft skin and he stroked her thighs - up, until he reached the lacy edge of panties. He kissed her belly through burgundy blouse before looking up at her flushing face. "May I take these off?" His thumbs were already hooked in elastic waistband.

"If you like." She stepped out of the lingerie gingerly, let them pool on the floor forgotten. He could feel goosebumps on her inner thighs. "Um. Do you want -"

"Up." He tapped the table. "Sit."

"On tha - on tha table?"

"Yes, please."

"Timothy. It's not so sturdy, ya know? And my ass is not a trifle."

"Your arse is lovely." He tapped again. "Sit."

"I dunno how hygienic that is! I mean - we eat here!"

"Exactly." A more forceful tap. "Sit." He gave her a bit of a boost, arm around her hips.

"Oh!" She settled on the table uncertainly. "Timothy?"

"Hm?" He was distracted again, watching the creamy flesh of her legs reveal as he pushed up the loose gingham skirt.

"What are ya doin'?"

He grinned, teasing her thighs to part. "I'm _eating_ here, Jude."

"Timothy." She seemed so damned concerned. "You don't have to do this. This is - this is crazy stuff. If yar not ready - ah!" She hissed when his fingers stroked the soft fur of her mons, dipping into the moist heat below. "Shit. Fuck it. God, that feels good! Touch me!" Her hands stroked his shoulders as he lowered his head.

It was like and not at all like Val had said. Jude tasted a bit like butter and clotted cream. He had no complaints and obviously neither did she, whimpering above him. Her fingers caressed his neck, scratching gently into his hair. "Oh that's...that's very good." He flicked the hood over her swollen clit - side to side, a sweeping circle, a suckle. Seeking her reactions, gauging her preferences.

"Jesus, Timothy…" His explorations weakened her control and her flighty at best filter. She leaned on one elbow, thrusting against his face awkwardly until Timothy took note. Calmly, he put a hand on her stomach and pushed. As soon as her back hit the table, he was able to hook her knees over his shoulders, tug her roughly to the table's edge. "Ah!" Jude responded enthusiastically, fingers stretching and gripping in his close cropped hair. "More," she moaned loudly, neck arching.

Timothy complied, a finger beginning to tease her now very wet slit. Val was right - he could gauge her enjoyment, her readiness, her closeness to orgasm this way. How tightly she gripped the finger was a promising sign. He used another to open her up, delving hotly with his tongue. "There!" Jude cried. "Don't stop!"

He had no intentions of stopping. Her guttural growls and groans were aphrodisiacs to the ex-priest, and he couldn't get enough of that intensifying flavor. He curled an arm around her thigh, able to flick and pinch her clit that way as he ate the holiest relic. She panted now, moans become mewls and far more desperate squeaks or sighs. His eyes flicked up to watch her writhe, a thin sheen of sweet spreading on her face and neck. He held her hips as steady as possible when her thrusting turned to bucking.

"Oh my God." She hissed now, eyes tight shut. "I think - fuck I'm so close, Timothy. I'm - I think I'm -" Her fingers seized, threatening to pull out a shank of his hair. She cried out loudly when her thighs and cunt clenched. It was fascinating to him - the way her body responded, the muscles contracting as if they were not hers. The uninhibited stream of profanity that expressed her pleasure. The contractions seemed to continue for a while, growing smaller and smaller as he tightened his ministrations, letting her wind down the way Val had suggested.

He couldn't contain a satisfied smile after a final kiss on her swollen clit. Gentled her thighs, kissed his way up her knees and lowered them. He steadied her as she rose back to a seated position. She shook prettily, looking down at him. "Lovely," he breathed, tucking a sweaty curl behind her ear and re-situating her skirt.

Her face, though, was an ambiguity. It shifted in this light, expressions he'd never seen. "Jude?"

Suddenly, she shoved away from him. Slipped off the table. Arms protectively across her belly she turned on him. "Yar still a damn liar, Timothy Howard."

"What?" He was absolutely dumbstruck. "Jude -"

She pointed at him, hurt now plaintive on her features. "You've done that befar!" Her voice wavered.

"Jude, I've never in my life -"

"Virgins don't know shit like that!"

He rose, now fighting a grin, and went to comfort her - to reassure her. "Jude. My Jude. Please listen to me."

"Don't 'my Jude' me!" She slapped away a reaching hand, pacing a bit like a kenneled creature. "Is this all some kind of game ta you? Lead me on, trna convince me yar some repentant soul and all the while what? I'm just one more conquest far you?"

"Jude, that's nonsense!" He would be devastated by her devastation were he not so deeply amused by the ridiculousness of her belief.

"Who?" She stepped into his space now, demanding truths. "Who else? Were you lying about Eunice?" There were real tears in her eyes now and Timothy realized how strange this all must have seemed. "What did ya do ta her?" Her hands slapped his chest - once, twice. "She wasn't even herself, you fucking asshole!" Another slap. "And who else? How many other sistahs fell far yar charms? Huh? How many did you -"

A gasp when he grabbed her elbows, not hurting, but controlling. "Jude listen to me. Now!" She hushed for a moment, sniffling heavily. "I have _never_ touched any woman the ways I've touched you." Drew his face close to hers. "The way I've tasted you."

"I don't believe you," she whispered. "There's no way -"

"Val taught me." The confession quick. Necessary.

Se swallowed emotions, face shifting again through dooms of question. "What?"

"Val." He released his old on her elbows, rubbed them to soothe. "Earlier today. With...with a peach."

They both flushed brightly - both embarrassed in their own ways. "A...a peach."

He nodded. "She um - carved it and er…" A wiggly finger gesture. "You know."

Jude took a deep steadying breath. Rubbed at her sticky face with both hands. And slapped his chest again. "Dammit! Why didn't ya tell me, huh? Ya can't just -"

"I wanted to please you!" He snapped, rubbing at his chest.

"Timothy!" A growl of frustration and she whirled away from him.

"What?" He was having trouble understanding her current anger.

Her hands ruffled her curls. "Shit. I don't know. You make me fucking crazy."

"I'm sorry if I -"

"Don't apologize!" She pointed at him. "Hell. I should be apologizing. I'm sorry I made crazy accusations."

"You couldn't have known -"

"A _peach_?!" She asked incredulously.

"A peach." Timothy laughed softly, reaching for her. She stepped into his loose embrace, nuzzling his chest.

"I'm sorry I hit ya."

"It's alright."

"I just had no idea…"

"You're right. I should have told you. I'm certain it seemed -"

"I mean, it was honestly fucking incredible."

He swallowed the ego boost. "You did seem to enjoy it."

"No. You don't understand." She stroked his jaw. "It's never been that way."

Timothy blushed. "I suppose I had a very through teacher, then."

"I can't believe you took oral sex lessons from my lesbian best friend."

"It was rather surreal."

"No wonder you didn't want pie!" She laughed, touching her own face shyly.

His thumbs traced the sticky trails on her cheeks. "You tasted sweeter."

She kissed him. A forgiving, accepting, wondrous kiss. "I need to stop thinking the worst of you."

"I want you to think of me as I am. And never hesitate to be honest with me." He winced. "Even if it involves volatile and physically violent confrontations."

"I don't want any more of our physical confrontations to be violent."

"No, that would be ideal."

She bit her lip, toying with his shirt button. "D'ya wanna find a nice program on the tv about...birds or somethin'?"

He laughed deeply now. "Why don't you find a program while I rebuild the fire? I trust your tastes in exotic animals completely. And we can have some of your no doubt delightful pie."

"Well, I was thinking of maybe other activities but -"

"And I was speaking of pie metaphorically."

Her pupils dilated. "I'll um...find something on tv. You...get some wood."

"Are you speaking metaphorically, as well?"

She chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Yes."

Through the back screen door, he could hear the television flare to life. Murmurings. He heard Jude in the kitchen, probably preparing slices of pie anyway. Pleased with himself, he stacked wood in the crook of his arm and opened the door just as the phone rang. Rolling her eyes at him, Jude answered it.

He half listened to her, stoking the wood stove and beginning to whistle happily. Once his fire was crackling healthy, he stood to find Jude sunken, stunned, against the wall beneath the phone. The receiver rested in her loose fingers. She stared ahead at nothing.

"Jude?" But he knew. Had a deep, wrenching feeling in his gut. He slid the receiver from her numb fingers. Lifting it to his ear, he heard sobs within it. His eyes closed when he spoke into the phone. "Valerie…"

"He's gone." Her voice was calm if choked with tears. "Johnny, Tim. Johnny's gone!"

Leaning heavily against the wall, Timothy looked down at Jude. Slowly, she drew her knees to her chin and lowered her head. "Is Missy with you?" He asked.

"Hey, Tim. Yeah, I'm with her." Missy had taken the phone. "Judy okay?"

"No."

"I know. I'm so damn sorry. There was nothin' we could do. He just went peacefully. Never even woke up."

"Thank you, Missy. For everything."

"Look, Timothy. We'll be in touch, alright? I'll let y'all know what's going on."

"Yes." When the line clicked, time clicked, too. He replaced the receiver quietly and simply sat beside Jude. He made no move to comfort her at first. Uncertain if she would want his touch. Uncertain what to say. Uncertain what to feel. Emptiness seemed to be the winning emotion of the moment. "Jude," he whispered. Hesitantly, his hand stroked her back and she curled into him. Crawled awkwardly into his lap, into his arms. She clutched him harder than he'd ever expected from her and returned the embrace as strongly. "Jude, my love. I'm so very sorry."

He buried his face in her hair, in her neck. Her sobs were body-wracking and quiet - the worst kind. With no words enough to comfort, he relied on his presence alone. He held her - his precious thing - in her pain. One more pain. And he felt tears escaping his own eyes. He cried for Johnny, yes, a friend he'd made. He cried for Valerie, who'd loved the man dearly. He cried for Missy, who'd tried her best as a nurse and as a friend.

But mostly he cried for Jude. The rare bird trembling in his arms, soaking his shirt with snot and tears. This vulnerable, sensitive, altogether human woman he'd fallen so hopelessly and achingly in love with.

Because as much as he might try to disturb this universe - to eat the peach - to live fearlessly and with an open heart, it was Jude who had disturbed _his_ universe. Broken him open and rubbed him as raw as the blisters on his palms - just as he'd once broken her. And so now, with the opportunity to fix them, to find love, to live a good life, he found her broken again.

He would stay the course. He would be here for her. This pain would pass and after that? He would see Jude smile again. For all they had here was time. Time and each other. Time for yet a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions. "Till human voices wake us," he murmured against Jude's wet temple. "And we drown."


	7. Consignments and Assignments

"He who was living is now dead." Timothy murmured. "We who were living are now dying." He rubbed at his eyes. They were dry, and so tired. It felt as though he hadn't slept in days. And he supposed he hadn't - or at least hadn't slept well. Because Jude had cried. She'd wept bitterly and softly, with bouts of soul-wracking sobs. She'd passed out weeping for two nights, leaving his chest wet and sticky for he did naught but hold her.

She wanted nothing to eat. Barely drank save for coffee. She refused his every offer of any comfort he could fathom: food, bath, blanket, music. Even liquor she denied - save for a shot to calm her nerves on the day Johnny died. And that one Timothy had insisted.

It seemed all she wanted was him. _Not_ departed Johnny, though Timothy had no doubt she would have moved mountains to change fate. No, she wanted _him_ \- Timothy Howard. The man she'd sworn she would never forgive his wrongdoings.

She'd been his shadow at best these last days and his siamese twin at worst, clinging to him closer than skin. He knew now this woman's body more intimately than any lover had or could. Tears had made them familiar - as blood between vampires. The salt of themselves had mingled and bonded. And while he knew now she was weak with grief as he was...they were stronger together than either was apart. When grief passed in time, he hoped Jude would remember the taste of their salt together; the feel of their skins sticking; the firm strokes of his fingers on her spine; the lazy, delirious songs he hummed over her shallow breaths.

"With a little patience," he whispered.

"What?"

He looked up from the couch to see her standing in the bedroom door. Standing for the first time on her own in two days. He tried a reassuring smile. "Nothing." His knees cracked when he stood. "You're beautiful."

"I hate wearing black."

"I know." She'd bought the dress yesterday. Just for Johnny's funeral. They'd gone into town together - amongst the oblivious dead oblivious to their dead. They'd walked as strangers among strangers, Jude's head on Timothy's shoulder and his arm supporting her. Like zombies they'd walked.

And she'd cried when he zipped the dress up her back. He'd held her in the dressing room, not caring what the saleslady might think.

It was simple. Elegant. Soft cotton and cashmere with a cowl that nearly hid her graceful neck. The skirt flared around her legs well below her knees. She looked down at the chunky black heels. "This is probably the most covered Johnny evah saw me." She laughed ruefully, and Timothy smiled, simply pleased she wasn't crying. "Except far the time I stayed with him…" She trailed off, chewing lip.

There were simply no tears left now. He recognized the feeling: emptiness. Emotion spent to the point the body grew numb. She shook it off admirably. "We should go."

"When you're ready." He followed her to the door. Her curls were tamed, too - captive in the black netting of her snood. She hardly looked like his Jude at all…

She didn't turn on the radio in the Nash. There'd been no music for days now and he found he missed it terribly. "Did I - did I tell ya about the time I stayed with Johnny?"

"You didn't."

She stared out the car's window. He could see snowy branches and bare trees reflected in her eyes. Her voice was hoarse. "I was a fuckin' mess. And this man took me in no questions. He put me up in my own room in his house. Such a perfect house. He fed me. He sobered me up. Got me workin' again. Treated me like a daughter or somethin.'"

"How long did you stay?"

"Only a few weeks." She wiped at her nose. "I shoulda stayed longah. He asked me to. Wanted me to."

"Why didn't you?"

"The same reason I didn't want to stay with you." She finally looked at him. "My pride." Her body curled. This weeping was more of a painful wail. "Christ, I know it killed him when I left! And then ta see me…" Timothy stroked her back, prepared to pull over if need be. "I was so ashamed! So embarrassed. I tried ta pretend everything was okay, but… I just wanted to disappear all the time."

"Jude." Fine. He pulled over. "Look at me." She did. "Johnny never judged you."

"I know that." Her hands fluttered. He calmed them by taking them in his own. "Even aftah that...gangsta."

"What gangster?"

She closed her eyes. "The man who beat me. Who…" She'd never spoken of the incident. Not in any detail. He'd only heard hints between Jude and Valerie. He wouldn't pressure her for details. Instead, he pulled her closer until he could awkwardly wrap arms around her, press his nose into her spicy hair.

She spoke of her own accord, quickly as if speaking it would erase it, and he didn't interrupt. "He was flash. Had all this money. He came ta the club a week straight befar I even let him buy me dinnah. And he was nice. Kept comin' back. Didn't try anything. I called him a gentleman, but Johnny… Johnny didn't trust him. Told me to keep my distance." She nuzzled his arm. "Why didn't I listen ta Johnny?"

"We rarely recognize when we're getting the best advice - and from whom - until it is too late, Jude." _I certainly didn't._

"I thought that fucker was my meal ticket. Let him move me into this apartment downtown Boston. And I wasn't stupid. I knew I was the other woman. And I knew what was expected of me in that apartment, but Christ…" She shook her head. "He was rough. And mean. He wanted...to control somethin.' Me, I guess. And one night, when he fell asleep, I took the money outta his wallet and the clothes on my back and took off. Thought I could just run back here, ya know? Back ta Val and Johnny. But...that bastard woke up. He found me on the street. And ya know what? Not one fuckin' cop raised a fingah when I was screaming. When he slapped me so hard I thought my jaw was broken."

His hold on her tightened. His jaw clenched. His fingers became fists at her sides. "Jude…"

"He threw me in the car and drove me outta tha city. On this deserted highway in the middle of nowhere. Three o'clock in the mornin.' He stops. Drags me outta the seat by my hair. Bends me ovah the hood and...Ya know." A gesture - her two hands breaking something in half. The gesture was not lost on the man who'd also been broken. "Then he beat the hell out of me and drove the fuck off."

"Jude."

"Johnny took me back. My dumb ass. Callin' at the crack of dawn from some gas station. No idea where I even was. Could hardly walk or talk. He came and picked me up. Fixed me. Again," she stressed. "God only knows what he and Val and the fellas did ta that gangsta. And again...I left. I couldn't even face him."

Timothy's teeth hurt from his painful clench. He worked hard to control his anger. "You're a strong woman, Jude. You were independent. Johnny knew that. Understood that. He respected you."

"I was so stupid!" She wailed now, clutching his jacket. "If only I'd stayed with him…"

And Timothy wondered what would have happened if Jude had stayed with Johnny. Would he have found her? In Johnny's bar? Would he have heard her sultry song? She certainly wouldn't have needed to pimp herself out for a meal. Would she have even known Timothy Howard existed in this afterlife? He doubted it.

"He loved you. He recognized your fire, Jude. I think he - he didn't want to snuff it out."

"And then _you_!" Her angry hands slapped at his chest - not hard. "You show up here talking about forgiveness and - and _love_ like anyone could love a stupid fucking whore who -"

"Stop it!" He grabbed her jaw, just hushing her. His hands shook. He forced her to face him. "Don't you dare call yourself _any_ of that ever again, Jude. _Never_ again. My life belongs to you. My heart. If you cannot recognize your own value then you will not recognize your value to me. Johnny saw it. Val sees it. Why can you not look past your past and into your future?"

She kissed him. Deeply and roughly and carelessly. And he kissed her back, tilting her head to ease the onslaught and whisper in her ear. "My Jude. Let me be here for you. However you need me. Let me be to you what you once could not allow Johnny to be. Please. He would have me care for you as I wish to. He...was my friend."

Her face fell into the crook of his neck. She breathed heavily. Minutes passed. Her clutch on his jacket eased. She slipped back and away at last. There was an odd peace on her face. "Drive."

"Jude."

"Let's go. We're already running late."

It was a graveside service only. Mutually agreed that Johnny had no use for churches in life, so why use one after life? There were tents and that was good because -

"Of course it's fuckin' raining." Val groused.

Missy patted her back. "You're just mad cuz you're wearin' a dress, darlin'."

"You look lovely." Timothy smiled at her awkwardness. It was a little dig - a little offer to lighten the heaviness.

"Shut up, Nancy."

Jude joined him - poked her friend's rib. "Ya got no hips, Val."

"Yeah? Well, you got no torso, so what?"

Jude looked down. "I _do_ have a torso," she insisted.

"Not really." Missy shrugged. "Pretty much legs, ass, and tits."

Jude gasped, a put-on hand to her chest. "Well, you must be lookin' pretty hard."

"Who isn't?" Missy shot back, a grin breaking.

"This is a funeral," Timothy hissed, flabbergasted that the women would be so coarse at a time like this.

"Not like any funeral you've evah seen." Jude nudged him. "Come on. Let's sit." She wrapped her coat tightly around her shoulders when they sat - in the middle of a sea of laughing, smiling faces.

It was true the ex-priest had never attended such a service. Jazz musicians played while those close to Johnny took turns at the podium, telling stories of times past. Drunken bar fights. Loose women. Late night advisory sessions. A copper still. Drag racing. Tales more suitable for...well, a bar.

But, Timothy mused between bouts of laughter, Johnny would have _loved_ it. And he would have loved the way Jude hid _her_ laughter and her tears in the crook of Timothy's neck; and the way he wrapped her in his coat and pulled her close. Johnny would have loved seeing her smile. Seeing her cared for. Seeing her _happy_.

And without a doubt he would have especially loved Val's cleared her throat nervously at the podium, smiling at Missy's thumbs up. "Hey." A rather shy start. "Um. A million years or so ago, I was uh - doing some construction work for ol' Ms. Lundt - Hey, Ms. Lundt!" A wave into the crowd. Timothy turned to see the bookstore owner blowing Val a kiss. "And uh - John Hathaway comes into her shop to buy some car magazines. I think he was workin' on that Model T he had fer a while. And uh - he sees me hammerin' away at a bookshelf and asks would I do some work at his bar. So I show up next day ready to build some shit, ya know? I'm thinking stools, tables, shelves...bar shit, right? I sidle my ass up to the bar. Johnny sidles his ass down the bar. I ask what he needs done and he says, 'Oh, I just needed a tough ta run the door tonight.'" Raucous laughter. "Next thing I know, I'm a bouncer and Johnny's the best damn boss I evah knew." She nodded. "I'm gonna miss him." She patted the coffin nearby - closed. "I miss ya, Johnny!"

Murmurings of agreement. Missy hugged Val when she returned to her seat. "Judy. Ya oughta go up there. Say somethin' for Johnny."

Jude shook her head. "I wouldn't know what to say."

But a chorus of sorts had begun. A chant rippling through the crowd. "Judy! Judy! Judy!"

Eyes wide, Jude turned to Timothy. "Go," he said, kissing her temple. She rose unsteadily, made her way to the podium, fingers stroking Johnny's lacquered box as she passed it.

At the mic, she choked up a bit. "I'm so happy to see so many people here today ta say good-bye to Johnny." A cheer. "And you've all had such great stories and times to remembah. But...I don't really have just one story to tell ta really express how much I loved this man. I guess...I don't really know what ta say." She bit her lip.

Timothy watched her flounder. "Dammit," he muttered. It was so obvious. He stood, felt Val's eyes on him. "Sing!" He shouted. And predictably, the crowd supported his suggestion. Vociferously.

Jude stared at him, cheeks pink and eyes moist. A slow smile formed as her bandmates gathered around her. A quick tuning session. A quick conference. And then...music.

 _I've been so many places in my life and time_

 _I've sung a lot of songs I've made some bad rhyme_

 _I've acted out my love in stages_

 _With ten thousand people watching_

 _But we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you_

Everyone stood. They swayed. They held hands. Many sang along. Jude stared at Timothy as she sang.

 _I know your image of me is what I hope to be_

 _I've treated you unkindly but darlin' can't you see_

 _There's no one more important to me_

 _Darlin' can't you please see through me_

 _Cause we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you_

And he hadn't realized until he heard her voice that it wasn't just music he'd missed these last days. It was Jude's music. Her mellow, rich tone. The confidence in her throaty croon. The way her eyes closed and her hips swayed and she lost herself in the song…

 _You taught me precious secrets of the truth withholding nothing_

 _You came out in front and I was hiding_

 _But now I'm so much better and if my words don't come together_

 _Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding_

He could see tears on her face, could even hear an occasional catch in her voice. He knew she sang this song for Johnny, yes. But he knew she sang it for him, as well. And like all of the other songs she'd used as a weapon or a letter to his soul, it hit home. He wanted to go to her, to hold her like he had for nearly three days now.

 _I love you in a place where there's no space or time_

 _I love you for in my life you are a friend of mine_

 _And when my life is over_

 _Remember when we were together_

 _We were alone and I was singing this song for you_

The band, so practiced with their leading lady, knew when her control was lost. They knew when emotion won out. They played on even as she rushed from the podium, fought her way through the mourners to hurl herself into Timothy's arms.

He kissed the tears from her face. "Beautiful," he said. "A perfect choice. I -" She kissed him, and he hushed.

The service had run long. Strong until the rain turned to freeze. Cold and numb through, parties had slowly departed. Jude, Timothy, Val and Missy had stayed to watch Johnny lower into his grave. They'd dropped the first dirt on his box together - as a family. They'd sniffled in sadness and in cold. They'd embraced, too numb to feel the comfort.

But the reluctance to part was warming. "How about breakfast tomorrow?" Jude asked, shaking in Timothy's arms.

"Sounds good." Val gave a loud sniffle. "I'm gonna get this one in a hot bath." She squeezed Missy.

"That sounds good, too." Missy smiled. "See y'all in the mornin'."

They were mostly quiet on the ride home. Both frozen through. Timothy broke the silence. "It was a wonderful service."

"It was." Jude nodded, staring out the window.

"I think it was appropriate. Exactly what Johnny would have wanted." She didn't reply this time, so he let the silence settle.

But even at home, silence.

"Would you like a tea? Coffee? Something to warm us up a bit?" He hung his coat on the rack, followed by hers.

"No." She rubbed her arms now, watching him build a fire in the stove.

"Would you like me to draw you a hot bath? Follow Val's example?"

"No."

It unnerved him, how withdrawn she seemed to be standing in the bedroom door like that, fiddling with the zipper on her dress. He moved to help her, unzipped the long zipper and patted her shoulder. "Would you like to eat something?"

"No." She unhooked the clip on the snood and curls tumbled free.

"Would you like the TV on? The radio?"

"No."

Her bare back was cool to his touch. He sighed heavily. "Jude. I'm sorry. I hardly know what to -"

"Timothy."

"Yes?"

She closed her eyes, leaned against his hands until he cupped her ribs inside the cold wet dress. "I'd like ya ta make love to me." Her voice - so strong and confident and sultry - was small and uncertain in their dim, warming house.

But he didn't trust his own voice, either. So he answered her with his touch, instead. He swept her loosed curls aside, kissing her neck up to her jaw, to her ear. She whimpered at his ghosting fingers pushing slowly at her dress, baring her to the cool. Seeing his intentions, she turned in his arms. The grey, dying light cast a serious shadow on his face and she stroked the expression softly. "If you're ready," she whispered.

Truthfully, he'd been ready. He'd been ready to take her three days earlier - when the call came that broke their reverie. It wouldn't have been his first expectation, but he saw the sense in this: the need to feel alive in the face of death. The want of warm in the bleakest cold. And yes, he wanted those things. He wanted her.

His throat felt too tight to answer. Her vulnerability in that moment, gooseflesh in a black bra and half slip, the moisture in her eyes. The pain in her soul matched his own. He nodded.

They kissed as she undressed him, easing the tie through his collar, shaking fingers unfastening buttons. He flinched when her touch drifted beneath his undershirt, grunted in her mouth. He hadn't realized his own fingers were working until she broke their kiss on a gasp.

He'd imagined this would be a magical, hushed experience - the two lovers joining for the first time. Muted murmurings of love. Breathless, quiet moans. But, her ribs were sensitive and the bra's clasp was an infernal mystery. So there was a surprising tiny yelp followed by chuckling.

"Sorry," he winced.

"Here." She reached behind herself and loosed the clasp.

He stopped her from removing the undergarment. "Let me."

"Mm-hm." She nodded, biting a lip shyly.

She was so very pretty undressed. Curls caressing shoulders and breasts just heavy enough to be satisfyingly cupped in curious, eager hands. She encouraged his explorations, shifting against him when he worked at the slip, garter, and panties together. They pooled around her ankles like the last vestiges of innocence between them.

He heard a shoe fly when she flicked them off, hands back at his waistband. She was determined to bare him, too. But his tummy was sensitive and when he lurched at the tickle, there was another chuckle. "You okay?"

He was more than okay. Smiling against her lips. "You feel...wonderful," he chuffed.

"You do, too." A sweet hum when her hands dipped beneath boxers.

He groaned. "God help me."

He'd also imagined this encounter would be tempered by grief. That lust would give way to wonder. That passion might pause for purity. But in hindsight he supposed (as he squeezed her behind) sex was simply sex no matter the metaphysical state, and his body responded to hers as if grief was already forgotten.

His erection bobbed thickly when she tugged his trousers and pants free. He stepped out of his shoes as she toed off her stockings, bodies awkwardly moving to the bed. Timothy sat on the bed's edge, struggling to free one foot from his last sock while a naked woman straddled him. He soon forgot the sock, completely distracted by breasts and curves and kissing and cool skin. He pulled her into the bedding with him. "You're cold," he murmured, stroking her back and shoulders.

"I'm warming up."

"You certainly are." He could feel the hot core of her stroking his cock. The pressure of her body wreaked havoc on his control and he closed his eyes, jaw tight - the briefest flash of similar blonde locks and a red slip on wrong woman.

"Okay?" She cupped the taut jaw.

"Yes." When he opened his eyes, he caught Jude studying him intently and gulped. "What?" He whispered.

She said nothing. Kissed his lips lightly and twisted them until she lay on her back and he rested between her thighs. "Jude," he groaned, nuzzling her neck. She _knew_ ; knew the pain of losing the luxury of choice, the shame of being taken against one's will. She gave him the power - the control. But the acceptance in her eyes, the tenderness, reminded him this would not be about power or control. That this would be about love. He stroked her temples. "Jude, I love you."

"Shhhh." She pulled his forehead to hers. "Timothy." She shifted against him and he took the hint.

"Oh, God." It felt...like sliding into the grip of perfection. She was wet, hot like hell and tight. He watched her face, recognizing the moment when pain turned to pleasure. A grimace, a bitten lip, gave way to a smile that reached her slit eyes. "You're beautiful," he choked.

"You too." She watched his expression as he'd watched hers. Monitored his reactions. "Breathe."

"I can't. This feels…" He moaned, burying his face in her breasts and clutching her so tightly breath wasn't even an option. "I want…"

"What do you want?" She was thrusting against him - little undulations that made his sanity waver.

"I - I don't know," he panted.

"I want you to move, Timothy." Her nails scraped the nape of his neck, his scalp.

The touch was electrical. He growled. "Jude." His body tensed, hips thrusting automatically.

"That's it," she whined. "Yes, Timothy! That's so good!"

"Fuck," he hissed and gave up the control. They moved together, his body following her body's lead, picking up its cues. Their breathing pattern melted into a smooth flow. Bedsprings creaked. Headboard shuddered like his grip on her hips. "Amazing," he spoke sloppily into her mouth.

"Yeah." Her neck arched. She thrust harder against him, heels dug into mattress. "That's - that's it. Shit, I'm close. Faster, Timothy."

"If I -"

"Faster!" She snapped. A hand clawed on his buttock. Sweat slicked them. "And harder," she gasped. "God. Please…"

It felt too much like praying - begging for this release, this closeness. Felt too much like absolution - her arms gripping him so tightly. Felt too much like Heaven - the sublime tickle of pleasure that started in his bollocks and spread wildfire through his body.

His mind shut down. For the most fleeting second, he was afraid he'd died, pumping heat and sticky essence like life's blood. Weak from the overwhelming moment, he breathed hot breaths onto her hot neck. He could feel Jude's pulse fast beneath his lips. He kissed the little ripple in her throat, still enjoying the little ripples around his softening cock. And _that_ was rather amazing, too.

The whole thing was amazing. Just damn...awesome. He felt a helpless, lunatic grin spreading and he imagined Jude felt it, too, against her skin. "Jude…"

"Mm."

Her fingers were tracing soothing designs on his back and shoulders. He suddenly felt an aching need to _talk_. A lot. "How - how - how is that a _sin_?" It was a wonderment, really. "I mean that was...that was the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me in all of ever. Really. Honestly." Her heartbeat was slowing beneath his. One of her thighs trembled before stickily sliding down his. "And I think we can only get better. Honestly. The two of us. I mean, I know I'm new to this but God...I have the most remarkable ideas." Finally having caught his breath, he propped up to share his ideas with her. "I can only imagine - Jude?"

She was crying. So softly he'd not heard her. But there were tears streaking her temples. His thumbs stopped them. "Jude. What's -"

"I love you!" She wept, shut her eyes tight, threw a hand over her face. "I always fucking loved you! Goddamn you! Even when I wanted to _hate_ you, I loved you so much!" Her other hand joined the first, pushing his fingers from her face. "You made me so weak! So desperate and blind and crazy! And even when you _destroyed_ me, even when you left me to _rot_ , I fucking _loved_ you!"

"Jude!" He grabbed her hands, rocked by her sobs. "Look at me!"

"No!"

"It was I who was weak, Jude! Who was desperate and blind and crazy! I was weak with my feelings for you and blind to love and desperate for the wrong things and then -" He managed to wrestle her hands from her face, staring into her eyes -" - and then I was crazy to leave you. Crazy to disbelieve you, not to trust you!" His own tears choked him and he swallowed them down painfully. "But I have the rest of this eternity to show you the love I wasted. If you'll just let me, Jude. Please." He stroked her templess again. Kissed her chin softly. "Please," he whispered. His eyes closed on a prayer.

"Timothy." She turned his face back up, brushed her fingertips across his eyes until they opened.

"What?" He sniffled wetly.

She tried a trembling smile. "You wouldn't be inside me right now if I wasn't gonna let you love me."

He nodded slowly, returning the smile, then blinked. "Oh. I _am_ still inside you."

"Mm-hm."

He looked down between her breasts, between their glistening bodies. "I'm...inside you."

"It's a requirement of most sexual encounters between men and women."

"Sexual encounters…" He murmured, looking up again. "More than one?"

"There's no particular set limit."

"That's...splendid." She chuckled. He shifted his hips. "I suppose I should um...get out of you?"

But she wrapped him in her arms and legs suddenly, vehemently. "Maybe not yet." Their foreheads pressed together. "Besides." She patted his back. "There's gonna be a mess when you pull out."

"Oh. I suppose that makes sense." He shrugged in her embrace. "Entirely worth it."

They were eventually driven from the bed. The calls of nature and hydration were impossible to resist. Wrapped in sheets and blankets they fed each other chicken and grapes and cheese, shared a glass of tea and stoked the fire before stumbling in an embrace back to the mattress and ensconcing themselves again in the safety of lust and the reminder of life.

"It is...deeply remarkable." Timothy muttered in the crown of Jude's head.

"What is?" She asked, passing him the cigarette.

He took a drag, flicked the ashes into the tray balanced on her bare knee. "This." He tightened his hold on her in the blankets. "Us."

Jude grinned, stretching back to kiss his jaw. "You're just in the grip of yar first afterglow. It'll pass."

"I am _very_ fond of sex, apparently."

"You most definitely are." She took back the cigarette, laughing. "Thank God I am, too."

"There is strong evidence to support I could make round 4."

"Yes, I feel the evidence in my backside." She stubbed out the cigarette.

"Cheeky." He took the ashtray just in time for her to turn in his arms. "Jude."

She paused, straddling him, arms draped across his shoulders. "Timothy."

"I know that...this is a distraction. That you are grieving. I know that Johnny is - was - an important figure in your life. Or...your - our - afterlife. And I want you to know that I would never take advantage of your sadness to achieve...this...between us. I will share in your grief as I share this bed. I will never let you -"

"Timothy." Her hand slipped over his lips. "Yar rambling." His eyes went puppy and he grunted behind her fingers. "We've got eternity to talk and feel all kinds of shit. So..." She shifted on his lap. "Shut up and fuck me."

She set the pace this time; a slow, grinding one. She clung alternately to his shoulders and to the spindles of the headboard behind him. Her kisses, nips, moans and breathy cries made him nsane. "Jude, please."

"Ya feel so good," she hissed in his ear. "I just don't want this to end."

"It won't." He cupped her jaw in his hands. "But you're the most diabolical goddamn creature I've ever known and I think I'm about to come inside you."

"Yeah?" She swirled her hips, snakelike.

"Yeah," he groaned painfully.

"Watch this." She leaned back, body arcing gracefully. HIs hands sleeked over her sweaty skin until he gripped her hips. She braced on her knees and pulled his hand to her fevered center. "Now. Touch me."

"Mary Mother of God…" He braced on his own knees, fingers plying her swollen clit, matching her rhythm of thrusting. "Jude, this feels -"

"Perfect! Yeah! That's it." A guttural growl. She thrust her hands above her head, pushed up on tense palms. "Oh, _fuck_ , Timothy. Yes!"

He was convinced that there was nothing in life or the afterlife more beautiful than Judy Martin in orgasm. She smiled through the convulsions, curls trapped between teeth and lips, gasps turning to breathy laughter and he couldn't help joining her in the joy. He braced on an arm above her, watching her watch his own surrender unfold until he collapsed on her, completely winded. "Jude," he moaned.

"Mmmm." She stroked him. Gentled him. Mustering the last of his strength, he pulled the discarded duvet from the floor and over their fast-cooling bodies. "Timothy. Tell me you love me again."

"Jude." He propped on an elbow to meet her tired, satisfied eyes. "My Jude. My rara avis. I love you more than I ever loved myself in our sordid, earthly lives. You have made me a better man in this life. You are my strength and my sole reason for being here." He swiped a tear from her cheek. "Do you believe me now?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Jude."

"What?"

"Will you tell me again? That you love me, as well?"

The woman who could own an entire club with her powerful voice couldn't find that voice. It was swallowed by the emotion she accepted at last. She stroked his stubbled cheek, tone low and cracking. "I know that...no one can break you into more pieces than the person ya love. And you broke the hell outta me. You know that. And I couldn't let go of that because… it nevah made me stop lovin' ya. I hated it and I couldn't understand it but there it is." She shrugged. "And now...it's like you've taken all those pieces you broke and...put 'em back together into something stronger and more beautiful than it evah was befar. So I went from being this smoldering, busted bottle to this...precious thing?" He nodded. "And you put the fire back into me. And I know that right now...I couldn't do _any_ of this without you." She kissed the top of his head when he hid his face in her neck. "So. I love you, Timothy."

It was a formidable feeling - this woman's love. "I don't deserve you."

"Oh, yes you do." She snuggled into his sticky embrace. "We deserve each othah." A sniff. "Even if we smell disgusting right now."

Grateful for the lightened mood, he sniffed too. "Oh, God!"

Jude chuckled deeply. "Let's have a bath."

"And then a nap?"

"And then a nap."

But a nap turned into a deep, dead sleep. Clean and loved and completely exhausted, they curled in each other's arms and bastioned themselves in blankets and slumbered. In two healed hearts, ardor ruled dominant; and death held no dominion. The night cradled them in starry peace.

Morning, however, was a giant reality filled bitch. It started with knocking. The lovers stirred simultaneously, lust hangovers clouding their reactions. "Mrph." Jude burrowed into pillows.

"Mm?" Timothy burrowed into Jude's breasts.

More knocking. Jude's head popped up from pillows. "The door," she croaked, voice not quite functional yet.

"What door?" Timothy popped out of breasts.

"Val!" She gasped, scrambling in sheets. "Breakfast!"

"Oh, hell." Timothy groaned.

"Get dressed." Jude was tossing clothes out of the closet.

A shirt smacked him in the face. "I can't," he muttered.

"What are you on about?" She was buttoning a red-brown calico dress.

"I can't move." Outside, Val's truck horn sounded. "That better be Gabriel's horn."

Jude laughed, skittering barefoot out of the bedroom. "Just get up! I'll take care of Gabriel." She closed the door behind her to give him some privacy.

He rolled like a slug to the edge of the bed. Absolutely every part of him ached. "This is my punishment," he muttered to himself. "This is the price for my unchecked lust. Agh!" When he stood, his back sent a hot zing of pain into his shoulder. When he bent into the blankets to retrieve the clothes Jude had hurled at him, he caught the unmistakable scent of Jude. And sex. A slow grin spread at the same rate as the pain in his thighs. "Entirely worth it."

When he finally managed to limp into the kitchen, he found Val and Missy already at his table and Jude making coffee at the stove.

"Mornin', Tim!" Missy chimed sweetly. Her eyes were tired, but smiling.

As were Valerie's when he caught her sussing stare. "Good morning, Missy. Val." He nodded.

"Nancy." Val squinted at him. "Little sore this morning?"

"Ah…" He felt the hot blush spread across his face. "Um." Jude turned to him from the stove. She'd misbuttoned her winced.

Missy lit a cigarette. "Funerals can really wear a person out, honey. Isn't that right, Tim?"

"Yes. Definitely." He appreciated Missy's interference.

"You're right." Val nodded. "Do they uh - give you hickeys, too, Judy?"

"Goddamit, Val!" Jude whipped from the stove, but her hand went to her neck. She clearly hadn't thought to check for damning evidence. "For fuck's sake we just practically lost our father. D'ya think he'd want to see us picking at one anothah the day after his funeral? What would he say if he was here right now?"

"He'd probly tell ya ta put yer clothes on right, ya slut."

Jude looked down at her buttons and gasped. "Shit." She scurried past the table to fix her attire in the bedroom.

Timothy had taken over the coffee preparation, keen to avoid any further ribbing. But he wasn't safe. Val joined him, elbow nudging his as she retrieved four cups. "How was it?" She whispered. And _again_ he couldn't stop the hot blush. But he avoided her question with a pointed glare. "Yeah." She nodded. "Us, too. I swear, after funeral sex is the best." She spoke to Missy over his scandalized stare. "Baby! You want cream and sugar?"

"Yes, please." It was Jude who answered, swaying back into the kitchen. Dress affixed and shoes on, she was far more prepared for teasing. She kissed Timothy's cheek before retrieving cookware. "Now. Who wants eggs?"

The hosts' sex life aside for breakfast, they talked about the funeral a bit; recalled te joyousness of it, the many friends and patrons who'd attended. And of course, they spoke of Johnny; of how different it would be without him - without Hathaway's. The subject brought a hush to the table. They stared into their coffees, frowning.

"That's enough mopin', already." Missy rose. "Gimme these dishes. I'm gonna get ta washin.'"

"I'll help." Timothy stood, too. Jude and Val cleared the table, and when the next knock came at the door, it was Val who went to answer it.

"Who could that be?" Jude asked.

Timothy shrugged. "At this point, who the hell knows?"

"Holy shit!" Val turned from the door, holding the curtain there closed with one hand. "Tim! Judy! There's a little nun on yer stoop!"

"A nun?" Jude asked. Her eyes locked with Timothy's. "Is it…"

"Should I let her in? She's got some man with her."

"A man?" Jude went to investigate. "Yeah, Val. Let 'em in."

Val stood aside, holding the door for Mary Eunice to enter, followed by Max Boardman. "Judy." The nun smiled.

"Eunice!" Jude flung her arms around her friend. Their embrace melted them together. "What are ya doin' here?"

"Mmm." Eunice relished the embrace for a moment, stroking Jude's back. "We've got some business to take care of."

"Business?" Timothy accepted the next hug.

"Business!" Max Boardman extended a hand and Tim took it. "Mr. Howell. Good to see you again. You seem to have done well for yourself here."

Timothy cleared his throat. "I've tried."

"You've tried very hard." Eunice commented, rocking on her heels. She elbowed Jude. "Did he try very hard?"

"Eunice!" Jude hissed.

"Oh, dear. We've missed breakfast, Sister Mary Eunice." Max was making himself at home or...at office...at the kitchen table, popping open his sleek briefcase. He sat. "Is there a chance of coffee?"

Missy stirred, nearest the stove. "Um...sure. Mister?"

"Boardman! Max Boardman. And you must be Missy?"

She turned, surprised, a spoonful of coffee suspended above the percolator. "Yes, I am." She looked to Timothy and Val, still frozen in the middle of the living room.

"Fortuitous that you are all gathered here." The steely haired 'lawyer' extracted a pair of wire rimmed glasses from the pocket of his neat, gray suit. "I have been assigned as the executor of Mr. John Hathaway's last will and testament and it seems you are all included in that will."

"Wait." Val drew to attention. "Johnny had a will?"

"Did he not request a pen and paper before his unfortunate lapse of consciousness?" Max asked, peering over his glasses.

"He did." Missy replied calmly. She poured the gentleman a cup of coffee.

"Thank you, my dear. Fine Southern hospitality."

"You're welcome." Missy sat to the table.

Val came to stand at her side. "I don't understand. John had a lawyer?"

"I have always been Mr. Hathaway's solicitor, so to speak." Max's lips pursed as he rifled through papers. "Well, let's see here now." He cleared his throat. Timothy pulled out a chair for Jude, stroking her shoulders as she sat. Eunice had taken up residence in the recliner, feet at the head and head on the foot rest. Her wimple dangled to the floor and she giggled. "Just to make you all aware this is an official reading of the last will and testament of Mr. Jonathan Murray Hathaway, who is survived by no blood relative. Understood?" Nods around the table. "Miss Valerie Watts?"

"That's me." Val whispered.

"Hm." A paper flipped. "Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of a slightly fire damaged nightclub."

"What?!" Val's hand flew over her mouth, eyes immediately tearing. "Hathaways? Hathaways is - is _mine_ now?"

"I believe that is the name of the establishment in question, yes." Max nodded.

"Baby!" Missy shifted, wrapped an arm around Val's stunned form. "You were just sayin' last night that you were gonna rebuild Hathaway's! He knew! Johnny knew how much you loved that place."

Jude grabbed Val's arm, steadying on her chair. "You wanna rebuild Hathaway's?" The hope on her face was naked and glowing. At Val's nod, she bowed her head. "Oh, Val… John would be so happy."

"Quite a project." Max was the unbiased voice of reason.

"A project for all of us," Timothy assured, smirking.

"I see a building montage!" Eunice sang from the living room. From behind the couch, they could only see her finger swinging in mid-air. "Woo-hoo!"

"Melissa Boodle?"

Eunice snickered. "Boodle."

"Me?" Missy gestured to herself. "Johnny left _me_ something?"

"Yes. Let's see." A paper flipped. "Oh, that's right." He reached into the briefcase and extracted a small box. "These."

Missy's hands shook as she flipped open the jeweler's box. "Oh, Johnny…" Shining and simple, a pair of slim gold wedding bands. She looked up at Val. "These must have been his and Carolyn's."

"Carolyn?" Timothy asked.

"Johnny's wife," Jude murmured, smiling at Missy. "She died years ago."

"Johnny knew we'd be togetha forever, doll." Val kissed Missy's forehead.

"He knew nobody else would want ya, ya pain in the ass." Jude poked Val's rib.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yer one to talk!" Val shot back.

Jude was volleying when Max spoke. "Miss Judy Martin?" She froze, eyes wide as she turned to the older man. A page flipped. Timothy's hand tightened on her shoulder. "The remainder of Mr. Hathaway's estate goes to you, my dear."

"The...the remainder?" Her voice broke in her throat.

"Yes. A car, I believe?" He reached into the briefcase and extracted a set of keys. "A Triumph. Good lookin' set of wheels, that. And…" Jude caressed the car key - a wooden bottle opener keychain worn smooth. Max extracted another set of keys. "His house."

She blinked at those keys before her fingers wrapped around them. "His house…" She whispered.

Max cleared his throat. "Yes. In fact, his only note beyond dedications of items reads as follows: Judy - It was always your home."

Timothy's hands slipped down her back when she stood. "I need a minute!" She gasped, fleeing to the bedroom and slamming the door.

"Jude!" He made to follow her, stopped by a black-clad arm.

Eunice had appeared silently as a ninja. She patted his chest, smiling smug reassurance.. "This is why I'm here. I got this." She opened the door just a crack, slipping in quietly and clicking it shut.

"Oh, Judy…" Val wiped tears from her face. "That's gonna be hard for her."

Timothy's throat hurt. He chewed at his lip, staring at the bedroom door. "Mr. Howell?"

Distracted, he looked back to Max Boardman. "Yes?"

"This is for you." The lawyer set another, smaller jeweler's box on the table.

"For me?" He looked at Val.

"Looks like you were adopted." The brunette shrugged. "Bet I know what it is."

The box was old. Its hinges made a creaking sound as he opened it. His eyes closed at the sight of the single diamond ring. The box snapped closed and he wrapped his fingers tightly around it. Missy touched his arm when he looked back to the bedroom door.

"We have to stop meeting this way." Eunice leaned against the door when It closed behind her.

"I can't do this right now, Eunice." Jude sat on the edge of the bed, head cradled in her hands.

"Do what?" The little nun meandered over.

"Whatevah deep, philosophical conversation you have in mind about forgiveness and love and acceptance and…" She waved dismissively. Sniffled. "Whatevah else ya got."

"I just wanted to congratulate you on your new home."

"I'm not ready for this, Eunice!"

"Nonsense." Eunice shifted. "I'm feeling a little weird about sitting on the bed with you. I'm pretty sure there's been sin all over those sheets."

"Dammit, Eunice!" Jude looked up, eyes red. "Help me!"

"Help you what? Change the sheets?"

"Agh!" Jude stood, pacing. "A house? What the hell am I supposed to do with a house?"

"You...live in it?" Eunice folded an edge of duvet up, gingerly making an untainted seat for herself. "You and Timothy."

"Me and Timothy." Jude chuffed, peeking out the window at nothing. "Me and Timothy are just now coming to terms with the fact that we apparently...love each other."

"Wow. Don't get too sentimental on me."

She paced again. "I just feel like everything is happening so fast! First, Timothy shows up and...shoots everything to hell. Then the fire and...Johnny." She choked back tears. "And now a house? Johnny's house? Some big life togethah?" An airy gesture. "It's just crazy, Eunice. So far from who we used ta be. Who _I_ used ta be."

"We're not still on this 'I don't deserve to be happy' kick are we, Jude?"

"No! I'm not saying that. It's just…" She sat again. Dropped her head on Eunice's shoulder. "I don't know what's next."

Eunice bit at her lip. Stroked Jude's cheek. "Well...there is something kind of...in the works. If you're willing."

"What do you mean 'if I'm willing?'"

"It's kind of a 'your assignment if you choose to accept it' thing. Jude." Eunice turned her older sister to face her. "I know that we don't talk much about...the past. Or death. Or...moving on much. Past this place, I mean. And if I'm totally honest with you, it's because there's a reason. There's a purpose for you here."

"What purpose?" Jude hadn't seen Eunice this serious before. She seemed almost frightened, and that frightened Jude.

"Something is coming, Jude. Coming to God's creation. Something evil."

"Like...a demon? Like one that possessed you?"

"Worse. The devil's own creation."

"You mean...an anti-christ?" Jude asked. She wanted to disbelieve, but she was so far beyond that ability at this point.

"Exactly." Eunice sighed. "There's quite a buzz about it. It's going to be big."

"Eunice, you act like the apocalypse is coming." Jude laughed ruefully, but sobered when Eunice didn't argue. "Oh my God."

"Is a construct," Eunice added. "But the point is - we need a weapon. A tool to use in the coming storm. The proper factions need...bolstering."

"A weapon," Jude murmured.

"Remember the Seraphim?"

"The highest order of angels." Jude nodded. "Yes, I remember reading about them."

"Well, we need one."

"I don't know any angels, Eunice." Jude nuzzled Eunice's shoulder. "Except far you."

"Jude."

"Hm?"

"We need you...to make one."

"Make one?" Jude sat up again. "I don't understand."

"Know how you always wanted a family? To be a mother?"

She swallowed, shaking her head. "What are you saying, Eunice?"

"Seraphim are born of special souls in special circumstances. They're born of strife. Of love. They learn strength against any adversity. They learn light. Life. They're...special. They have...certain capabilities - seven, specifically, but we can get into all that later - beyond any we might understand. And when their soul is ready - when it's learned all it can - it goes to its purpose."

"Its purpose," Jude repeated numbly.

"In this case...to save mankind."

"That's a tall order."

"We think we have the right cooks." Eunice looked on the edge of begging. "Please, Jude."

"Eunice. I don't know if you're aware of this or not. But even if I wanted to...make an angel baby far ya? And I do, don't get me wrong!" She shook her head sadly. "I can't."

"In _life_ you couldn't, Jude. That miserable life that disappointed you at every turn. That made you beg for death. That broke your heart, your mind and your body." She grabbed Jude's hands, her own emotion taking over. "But now...you can have whatever you want. We can make it happen. You can make such an impact. Jude. Don't look so shocked. This is your fate."

"Fate?"

Eunice shrugged. "It's a thing."

She had to process for a moment - Jude did. She stared at her hands in Eunice's, thinking. "You're saying...I could have a baby."

"Yep. Easy peasy."

"I'm too old for this, Eunice!"

"Age is also a construct."

Jude sighed. "You just...give me a baby, you mean. And I get to be its mother."

"Nope. Gotta get that bun in the oven, so to speak." A nudge. "You're already practicing, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Eunice!" But she was beginning to smile, cheeks pinkening. She touched her belly. "I could have a baby." She looked up suddenly. "But Timothy…"

"I don't think he'll mind being a father."

"Should I tell him? Any of this? I - I have to tell him, Eunice."

"I'll take care of that." Eunice stood up. "Lay down."

"Why?" Jude scooted back into the pillows, kicking her shoes over the edge of the bed.

When she was prone, Eunice cracked her fingers. "Magic," she winked. Her hands hovered over Jude's stomach for a moment before she giggled down at her former sister. "By the way, I've always wanted to do this."

There was warmth - like opening the hot oven. And then, Jude slept.


	8. Precious Things

Missy and Val left. Sensing perhaps that something intense and private was unfolding, they'd taken their leave gracefully, shaking hands with Max on their way out. Timothy was sad to see them go, honestly. They couldn't have left him with a more awkward situation. He wanted nothing more than to barge into the bedroom and assess Jude, but he put his trust in Eunice implicitly. She would do what was right, and was possibly better equipped to comfort the woman than himself.

However, a small part of him bristled at that thought. Was it not Timothy who had held Jude through these last days of grief? Washed her hair? Spooned soup into her mouth? Carried her prone form to bed when she'd cried herself into unconsciousness? Who was he to judge anyone better than himself at loving Jude?

He was cross when he sat back to the table. It was vexing.

"Seems you've made some fine friends here, Mr. Howell." Max was content to light a cigar, oblivious to recent events.

"Yes. Valerie is possibly the best friend I've ever known."

Max pointed at him. "And _that_ is progress, sir."

He chuckled ruefully. "Thank you, Mr. Boardman."

"And it seems you and Jude have made quite a bit of progress, as well."

He was proud he didn't blush this time. "We've managed to mend our relationship admirably, yes."

"So I suppose now with Mr. Hathaway's generous inheritance…" Max paused, watching the smoke rise from his cigar. "You can do right by her, at last."

"If you're implying that I should marry Jude, then yes, that is my intention." And it was. It had been crystal clear as soon as he'd seen the ring. "If she will have me."

"Oh, I'm sure she can be encouraged." Max smiled. His eyes closed in pleasure. "It's always pleasant to see things falling into their proper places."

"Proper places?" Timothy shifted in his chair. "What do you mean by that?"

The bedroom door opened before the solicitor could reply. "Well, Sister?" Max stood, beginning to gather his things. "Is all well?"

"All is well, Max. She was...in agreement to the assignment." Eunice shuffled tiredly to the table and sat. "I think I need a drink."

Max chuckled. "Maybe Mr. Howell here can offer you something." He turned to the nun. "How was it?"

"Exhausting." Eunice rubbed her hands together. "But successful. I think she'll impress us."

"What are you talking about?" Timothy despised being left out of the loop. "What have you done? Where is Jude? What assignment? Is she -"

"Mr. Howell." Max's hand shushed him. Timothy shook it numbly. "I'm afraid I've a rather busy schedule. I'm going to leave Mary Eunice here to make things crystal clear for you."

"Bye, Max!" Eunice chirped over Timothy's confused stutterings.

"I'll see myself out." Max made his way briskly to the door.

"Eunice."

She turned to Timothy. "Are you going to offer me a drink?"

"Do you drink?"

"I think I do now." She blew a tired breath. "Something strong."

He rose, forehead a mass of creases, and pulled down the bourbon. "How is Jude? And what is it you were discussing with Mr. Boardman?" He poured her a finger.

"Keep going." Eunice gestured from her chair. He poured another dribble. "More." She gestured again. Another dribble. "Don't be scared of it, man!" He poured her another finger. "There we go!" He handed her the tumbler, beginning to feel frustrated. She took a generous sip. "Whooooooo! That's why they call it firewater!" She coughed. Took a moment to gather her thoughts. Staring into the swirling libation, she spoke. "You ever think about having kids, Tim?"

"No." He hadn't. He'd thought only of the Church. Of power. Of himself. That had only just now changed.

"Huh." Eunice smiled at him. "Pour yourself a drink, too." At his grimace, she chuckled. "Trust me. You're gonna need it for this conversation." He did as she instructed, and sat.

Jude slept for most of the day. Eunice had told him she would. That her body - her soul - needed to adjust to certain adjustments. Timothy was sitting on the couch - staring at the jeweler's box on the table - when she emerged from their bedroom. Evening had fallen, and the house was dim. Peaceful. Standing in the doorway, hair tousled and skin glowing, she was possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Hello," he greeted quietly.

Her smile was shy. "Hey."

"Feeling better?"

"I feel…" She searched for words. "Wonderful." She sat beside him on the couch. "You?"

"I'm a bit...overwhelmed."

"Eunice talked to you?"

"Yes."

Jude took a deep breath. "It sounds insane."

"What? The apocalypse?"

"No." She shrugged. "We've known that was coming. I meant...the baby thing."

"The savior of all mankind thing?" He rested his chin on his folded hands.

"Yeah. That thing." She chewed her bottom lip.

"Jude."

"Hm?"

"This is why we never went to Rome. Why we suffered so in our lives. Why I made you suffer so." For some reason, he cried. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks. "We are meant to be here. Together. Creating this incredible life. All that we ever wanted to accomplish as mortals - saving souls - is about to be reality. On an immeasurable scale."

She considered calmly, nodding. Not touching him. "So...we're doing this?"

He wiped his cheeks and faced her squarely. "Jude. This is a charge from the Almighty God."

"Can't say no ta _him_." She couldn't hide a smile.

He stroked her hair. "I want to do this properly."

"I thought you had a pretty good grasp on the mechanics -"

"I don't mean _that_."

"Oh." He grabbed the little box from the table. She hadn't noticed it earlier. But she noticed it now. "What's that?" She pointed to it, drawn back as if it was a snake.

"Jude."

Hand at her heart, she peeked over his fingers. "What the hell is _that_?" She pointed again, body tensing. He made to kneel, sliding from the couch. "What are ya doing?" An almost panic seemed to rise in her. "Timothy. Shit. Jesus." Her hands flew over her face when he opened the box.

"Jude."

"Oh Blessed fucking Virgin," she whispered, peeking at him through her fingers. "What is happening right now?"

"Judy Martin."

"Who's that?" She was crying, now. And he was crying again.

"My rara avis."

"Oh, fuck yar speakin' Latin!" The mini panic drove her to stand, but he captured her with elbows on her knees.

He continued over her growing emotion. "Will you marry me?"

"You've lost yar goddamn mind!"

"Be my wife."

"This is batshit!" She wept harder.

"And the mother of my child."

"Holy Moses!" She had to look away from him. "I can't believe this is really happening…" Silence fell while she breathed deeply.

It was too much for him to bear. "Jude, please. Say yes. We have work to do. And...my knee hurts. Marry me, Jude."

"Oh, shut up a second!" She snapped, finally turning back to him. "Christ, of course I'll fucking marry you!" He collapsed against her knees in relief, groaning. She kissed the back of his head. "But only because God wants us to have a magic baby."

"I love you." He murmured in her thigh.

"I guess that, too."

"You are the most impossibly frustrating woman I've ever -"

"Yeah, well. Now I'm gonna be yar impossibly frustrating wife." She patted his back. "Get up and put that ring on me." Foreheads together, he slid the solitaire on her finger. It was a perfect fit. They stared at it. "From Johnny?" She asked quietly. He nodded. The diamond sparkled when she tilted her hand. "He finally made an honest woman out of me." Her eyes sparkled, too.

Timothy laughed. "You've always been an honest woman, Jude."

"I tried." She cupped his chin in her hands. "Timothy."

"Yes?"

"Can we enjoy a few more rounds of pre-marital sex before we take more life-altering vows?"

"Yes." And he was right: they did get better.

It was back to work the next morning. Timothy and Val were quiet on the drive to Ms. Lundt's land. Sipping their respective coffees. Thoughtful. It wasn't until the caffeine kicked in that they really began a dialog.

"So." Val chucked a log into the truck bed. "You and Judy gonna tie the knot?"

"Er. Yes." He wondered why he was grinning like a fool.

"Well. If you need...ya know...witnesses or whatever."

"Of course." He leaned against the lowered tailgate. "What about you and Missy?"

Val smiled. "Little different for us. You know. Legalities and all that." She shrugged. "Not too many justices out there willing to tie up two lesbos."

"That's...bullshit."

Val laughed deeply, richly. "Way of the world, Nancy." She punched his arm. "But the fact that you feel that way warms the cockles of my coldass heart."

"Your heart is hardly cold, Valerie."

"Thanks, Tim." She thought a moment, picking at a loose thread on her leather glove. "Hey, Tim?"

"What?"

"If uh...if I was to rebuild Hathaway's...would you help me?"

"I will. In any way I can."

"Ol' Ms. Lundt says I can have all the timber I need. And that's a start. But...it's gonna be expensive."

He thought of the coffee can at home. Wondered at its possibilities - if its true purpose could match the purpose set before himself and Jude. "I believe I can help with that."

"I'll pay ya back."

He took a deep breath. "Well. We may need...a babysitter. In the future." He didn't see the attack coming. She grabbed him so hard and with such force they tumbled into a pile of brambles. "Val!" He was chuckling.

"Nancy, ya sneaky fucker!" Her gloved hand squished his cheeks together. "I always wanted to be an auntie!"

When he returned home, Jude was waiting in the bedroom. Naked. In the sheets. He had no complaints. And after marathon sex, he'd broached important topics.

"We should probably get married soon."

"Don't wanna live in sin with me?"

"Hardly a sin, Judy." He'd taken to calling her Judy lately. Maybe because the syllables tasted so sweet when she was milking him dry.

She shifted in his embrace, turned to face him. "How about next week?"

He chuckled. "Is it really that simple?"

"Yeah. Piece of paper. Justice of the peace. Boom. We're legitimate."

"Fine." He rolled her beneath him. Began kissing his way down her beautiful, sticky body. "I look forward to being legitimate with you."

Things happened quickly after that. Jude didn't want a 'big production,' as she called it. They went to the courthouse on a Tuesday - Val and Missy along for the ride. It rained, and Jude wore lavender. "I feel some kinda way about white," she'd explained.

Their 'honeymoon' was moving - not emotionally, but physically. Two trips in Val's truck had them settled in Johnny's house. Their house. Less than a mile from Hathaway's and less than a mile from Missy and Val. Timothy had been the one to lock up his little white house. Val and Jude had left in the truck. He toured the tiny establishment one last time. The rag on the leaky shower. The tiny back porch still piled with wood. The console television where he'd watched so many nature programs. The plaid couch where he'd put his fingers inside his wife for the first time…

On a whim, he took down the coffee can above the stove, hearing a jingle inside it. It was brimming with bills and he pocketed the money, knowing exactly what it was meant for. He paused at the door. Sentimentality overtook him. "To whomever resides here next...know this place is blessed. And that here, your soul is saved."

The loose pane rattled when he closed the door, and the Nash motored out of the driveway for the last time.

But Johnny's house was bigger. Better. Two bathrooms - neither with leaky showers. Three bedrooms. A bigger television. A dining room with a wooden table that seated six. Bigger kitchen. An en suite and a guest bath. A bed that didn't complain when they made love - which was often.

Vast improvement.

And nice to come home to after days full of difficult, demanding work. The extra money had well funded rebuilding Hathaway's club. And Val had kept the name. In fact, she'd made few changes beyond extending the bar and expanding the dance floor. The back room was gutted. Jude's dressing room rebuilt and a cooler installed.

"State of the fuckin' art." She said at dinner.

Missy rubbed her shoulders. "It's a real nice cooler, babe."

Jude shook her head, slicing into a hot apple pie. "I just don't know if 220 cases of beer was really necessary, Val."

"It's a grand re-opening, Judy!" Val spread her arms wide. "Party of the year! I want everybody in the next four counties to know that Hathaway's is the place ta be from now on."

"Or at least the place to drink beer," Missy winked.

"Judy." Val spoke up seriously, ignoring her lover's teasing.

"What, Val?" Jude watched Timothy spoon vanilla ice cream onto her pie before taking a giant bite.

"Will ya sing for me? Opening night? Come back to the club?" She gave Jude her best puppy dog expression.

Jude considered, twirling her spoon in her dessert. "Two weeks, right?"

"Right."

She nodded. "I can do that."

"Yes!" Val fist pumped. "Best reopening evah!"

"But...ya might have ta find anothah singah after that one, Val."

"Yar not retiring, Judy." Val tapped the table. "Not when we're about to light up the map!"

"I'm just thinking of taking some time off." She stared at her pie still. Missy squinted at her, as did Timothy from across the table. Val gaped. "What?!" She asked, taking in their collective stares. She shrugged. "It's just that...I'll be showin' soon and I don't think you want a prego lounge singah struttin' around on -"

"What?" Timothy stood abruptly. "What did you say?"

Val's gape turned to a joyous grin. She watched her friends' moment unfold with absolute glee.

Jude stood, too, squaring off with her husband. "I was plannin' ta tell ya tonight."

"That you're…" He rounded the table to touch her belly. "Jude. Are you…"

"Ya work fast, Monsignor," she whispered.

"Jude." The tears were uncontrollable. He didn't bother trying to hide them. Enfolded her in his arms. "My rara avis."

"Yar rara avis is gonna have a little avis soon." She kissed his cheek softly. "Yar gonna be a daddy, Timothy." The rest of dessert became a celebration.

In bed that night, she apologized unnecessarily. "I'm sorry I told ya in front of Missy and Val."

"I'm not." He smiled against the back of her neck. "They're our closest friends." He rubbed her stomach again, fluttering his fingers beneath her satin gown.

Jude laughed. "You don't have to hold it in there, ya know. It's not goin' anywhere. Not for at least another seven months."

"There's a precious thing inside my precious thing," he murmured.

She twisted to face him. "Thank you."

He stroked her cheek, shadowing the shaft of moonlight there briefly. "Not I, Jude. _You_ deserve the gratitude here."

She thought, eyes closing. "Nah. Not me either…"

He grunted when she nuzzled his neck, nipping. "Can we still um -"

"Mm-hm." She climbed atop him, moving his hands where she wanted them.

"This won't hurt the baby?"

"Timothy. Nothing's evah gonna hurt this baby."

And after all the months of fretting over what a terrible mother she would be - and what a selfish, neglectful father he would be - they found they made staggeringly good parents. There wasn't exactly a test for it, but it showed in their daughter's every surprising new development. She talked at six months. Walked at seven. At her first birthday party, she sang her own birthday song and taught Missy and Val how to cha-cha.

It wasn't long before she caught expected attention, and lessons started. Eunice came nearly every day, simply taking the child for walks or playing quietly in her room. Jude and Timothy let them be, trusting in something they couldn't comprehend because beyond her minor advancements - their daughter seemed perfectly normal.

"Mama."

"What, bug?" Jude was washing dishes.

"May I have some milk?"

"Of course. Thank you for the mannahs." She retrieved the milk bottle from the fridge, pouring one up for the precocious five year old. "There ya go. Know what? I'll join ya." They stood near the sink, sipping milk, the child twirling gold ringlets around her fingers.

"Will daddy be home early today?"

"Hm. I dunno. He's working on the club's roof with Aunt Val."

"Well, damn."

"Don't let yar daddy hear you say that."

"I know." She smiled up at her mother.

"Here." Jude retrieved a stool from under the sink. "Help me finish up these dishes."

"Yes, mama!"

 _I'm back in baby's arms_

 _How I missed those lovin' arms_

 _I'm back where I belong_

 _Back in baby's arms_

 _Don't know why we quarreled_

 _We never did before_

 _Since we found out how it hurt_

 _I bet we never quarrel anymore_

 _Thought I didn't need his love_

 _'Til he took it away_

 _Now I'm back where I belong_

 _And in my baby's arms I'm gonna stay_

 _Back in baby's arms, back in baby's arms, back in baby's arms_

They sang along to the kitchen radio together, blowing the bubbles that rose from the sink and splashing each other. Somehow they were nearly soaking wet soon and completely distracted from dishes because they were too busy laughing.

A cracking thud against the window over the sink broke their reverie. It was loud - almost breaking the pane. Jude jumped - a frightened yelp and hand to heart. Her daughter seemed hardly fazed, trying to peer over the sill. "What was it, mama?"

"I think it was a bird, baby." Jude calmed, stroking the girls hair. "Come on. Let's go see."

Out the back door they stepped behind the budding rose bushes, carefully avoiding thorns. Jude tisked as she knelt. "Yeah, sweet pea. I'm sorry. It's a red bird."

The cardinal was already dead - most likely of a broken neck. And while Jude hated death - and wasn't exactly certain how to go about explaining it - she recognized this opportunity for her daughter to learn and grow. "Come on. We can bury him." They stepped out of the house's shadow.

But in the sun, small hands tugged at Jude's dress, stopping her. "Mama. May I see?"

"Of course, lovey." Jude knelt opening her hands to reveal the still warm creature. She studied her daughter's brown eyes - such a perfect amalgamation of Timothy's and her own - searching for sadness, question, or trouble. But surprisingly, there was only peace in the bright orbs before they closed.

When the small hands reached for the bird, Jude thought to stop her. Thought of germs and mites and all the little nasties kids should avoid, but something stopped her throat giving it voice. Some moment unfolding - some wonder… She gasped when she felt the flutter. Tiny claws scratching her palm. When the small hands opened up, the flutter turned to a full beat and they watched the cardinal take wing.

"Mallory." Judes hands wrapped the girls wrists urgently. "Mallory, look at me, baby. How'd you do that?" Her eyes stung with tears.

"Mallory, why don't you go get the drawings we've been making to show your mama?"

Jude gasped at the voice, whirling to see Mary Eunice behind her. Mallory scampered obediently to the house and Jude stood. "What the fuck was that?" She whispered intently.

"Remember I told you this child would have capabilities beyond our comprehension?"

Jude's eyes were wide with disbelief, manic. "But...she can't _raise the dead_ , Eunice! That's...that's sacrilege! It's -"

"Jude. Don't be so narrow minded." Eunice stroked her arms. "You never were before!"

"It's just...Oh my God." Jude rubbed her face. "This is insane."

Eunice chuckled. "It's only going to get better, mom." She nudged Jude. "Come on. Let's go see some drawings. I think your husband is home."

Indeed, Timothy stood in the kitchen, holding a giggling Mallory above his head. When Eunice and Jude entered, he set the girl on the floor. "Alright, Mal. Run fetch these masterpieces." He caught his wife's eyes over Eunice's shoulder. And once their daughter was out of earshot: "Jude. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah! Yeah, everything's fine, honey!" Jude sat at the little breakfast table across from Eunice, gesturing dramatically. "You know. Dishwashing. Glass of milk. Resurrecting the fuckin' dead. Typical Tuesday morning shit."

"Resurrecting the…" He glared at Eunice.

"What? I didn't do it!" The nun defended.

"Here they are!" The conversation halted when Mallory sailed back into the room, dropping papers in her wake. They seemed to float and follow her to the table, where she piled them into a neat stack between the dumbfounded adults. "This one is my favorite. It's mama and daddy having dinner!"

Timothy took the picture in his hands. Mallory had moved on, showing off a particularly impressive squirrel she'd crafted. But he couldn't take his eyes off of _this_ picture. It was indeed himself and Jude having dinner; Jude as a nun, unmistakable in her habit, and himself as a priest. He swallowed. The colors, the setting, every single detail… This was a Briarcliff dinner. Something his child would have _no_ knowledge of at all.

Eunice watched him, a peaceful expression encouraging. He felt Jude's eyes on him, too. Her hand covered her mouth and there were tears in her eyes. In the picture, he held Jude's hand, and they smiled at one another. He set the picture on the counter, hand numb.

He reached for Jude's hand now. She took it. He folded the other over his daughter's tiny shoulder, and they smiled at one another.

HIs soul understood. As mysterious as they were - life, death, the afterlife, love… They could so easily be understood. Embraced. Unquestioned. Faith could prevail. Death could fail. And love could rule eternally: precious things.


End file.
